


Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

by buckyno



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Avengers still exist, Cameos everywhere, Comic Book Science, Conspiracy, M/M, Magic, Not Beta Read, Slight Clintasha - Freeform, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Some angst, clint/nat/bucky brot3, closer to the mcu than you might think, lots of coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 85,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyno/pseuds/buckyno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes, and Clint Barton were all masters of a particular skill set.  Two of which were ex-operatives of the infamous Red Room trained to be the without equal and without mercy, the other was an ex-carnie turned ex-mercenary turned…whatever, something menacing he can assure you.  They were the best and they were all inconsolably broke.  Then there was an idea, to bring together their collective talents and…well...<br/>“We are not an Assassin’s Guild, Barton, stop calling it that.”<br/>“Well, it sure as hell isn’t a keeping-people-alive-guild, Bucky.”<br/>It was definitely not an Assassin’s Guild.  Probably.  Natasha didn’t care what they called it as long as they could keep the lights on.  It works pretty well until one day they get a mark by the name of Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

 

 

New York brought all kinds.  Good kinds, bad kinds.  Villains and heroes, superheroes even when the bad kind was real, real bad.  Most of the masses walked the morality line like a tightrope.  A business that existed solely to end people’s lives was definitely on one of the murkier sides of that line.  Natasha would say that morality had nothing to do with it.  They were indifferent, like death itself, but Natasha was always a bit more poetic than the rest of her business partners…no, her friends, except for when they were playing Mario Kart.  Then the poetic license was torn apart by a well-aimed blue shell.  Shot by Clint, of course.   Bucky had more of a sense of self-perseveration than that.

There they were, three assassins lounging on each other with snack landmines strewn about their decrepit little office playing Mario Kart with the same determination as they put behind the trigger.  Or bowstring, or knife in the dark.  Very determined needless to say.  The problem was it had been a slow week.  You would think with way the human race hated each other work would be lining up ass to front but when your nameless shadow death business garnered contacts through hear-say and reputation they couldn’t exactly make a website and some fliers for clients on the regular.  Ergo, Mario Kart.

Clint would find it important to point out to anyone who would question his life choices, if he could tell anyone about his life anyway, that the contracts they took were always the type of people the world would be better without.  No matter what Natasha said.  Did any of them have room to judge?  Hell no, but they did what they were good at and if they took out a few drug cartel leaders along the way then well, good on them.  They were the furthest thing from heroes, not like those Avenger wierdos, but he liked to think he and Buck and Nat provided a sort of public service.  Not for free of course, good coffee cost good money after all, besides Natasha didn’t get out of bed in the morning for anything less than five grand and Bucky…Bucky might have been there solely for the killing folks bit.  Don’t get Clint wrong, Bucky Barnes was the fucking best and had been through the fucking worst of humanity.  If anyone deserved the right to rain some hell down on the world it was Bucky, except that’s not really the way it was.  Bucky and Natasha were wired differently.  Bucky more than Natasha in some ways, he needed the violence every now and then.  Needed to use those abilities that were carved into him or else he got this stillness to him along with a stare that had Natasha switch to soft Russian and Clint grabbing his dog and hiding out in the nearest safe-house.  They never talked about it, they needed need to, they all knew what it was like to be unmade and those scars didn’t just disappear.  Most of the time though Bucky was just Bucky, a tech nerd who happened to have a metal arm.  Natasha was just Natasha, vodka enthusiast and much less enthusiastic cat-owner.  And Clint, Clint was just himself, badass King of Mario Kart.

Bowser with Clint’s name hovering above it swings in front of a Waluigi with Natasha’s name hovering above just in time after she’s hit with a blue shell to come in first place, Bucky glances at Natasha sheepishly and follows Clint with his Princess Peach.  Natasha says nothing which means something terrible would happen later when they least expected it.  For contract killers they were painfully immature over certain things.

“I would like to state for the record,” Bucky says with a funeral-like solemn tone, “That second place was hard-earned and achieved honorably without use of shady blue-shells or Nutella related distractions.”

Clint scoffs, “Traitor.  It’s a Russian thing isn’t it?  Just admit it, freakin’ Russians sticking together.”

“Like the snows of Moscow.”  Natasha says wryly and offers Bucky a fist- bump which he graciously accepts with an over-exaggerated emotional expression.  Technically Bucky was from Brooklyn but he was as Russian as Natasha was in any ways that truly mattered.

They would all bitch and moan about being broke ninety-nine percent of the time because being broke sucks and was also a unspoken by-law of cutting ties with all the shadow organizations out there and going in it for themselves, but honestly the moments when the three of them could relax and joke and be semi-normal were valued above almost anything.  More than business partners, more than friends, they were family.  Get enough chocolate and vodka into Natasha and even she would admit that.

Jobs always came knocking eventually though and when they did the three of them jumped-to, livelihood at stake and all.  Especially this month since they were behind on their office rent.  The landlord had given them a break because Natasha had asked oh-so-sweetly while Bucky stood behind her subtly showing off his metal arm and glowering.  But they lived in New York, where the landlords were all the same stock of formidable lagoon creature willing to threaten grandma and hitman alike if enough money was due.  They were undoubtedly marching closer to that line.  It was a given they had to take the next job whatever it was.  There were a few strict exceptions of course, like no kids, still that left a helluva whole lot of players open. 

The job they were waiting for didn’t come knocking but through an email over a secure line Natasha herself set up.  The office computer was always on and made a blaring honking noise whenever a message came through in what they called the drop box, also courtesy of Natasha.  An email always meant someone with money, lots and lots of money, that contact was only spread through certain happy clients.  The prospect of ending their dry spell and maybe eating something that didn’t come out of a jar had the three dropping their controllers mid-game and crowding around the computer screen.  The email carried the initials of their prospective employer, A.P., an offer and proof of a way to pay the offer.  The name of the target was in print-only form with some details about them.  The amount of zeros they saw illuminate the screen had them all stopped, quiet.  Clint gave a low whistle.  What they had in front of them wasn’t just a job.  It was a take a long vacation somewhere warm and drinking alcoholic beverages out of coconuts, or lifetime supply of pizza for Lucky.  Both, easily.

Natasha hit print.  The file they received was big.  Their poor printer struggled around the tenth page unused to such heavy lifting.  They expected some big CEO, maybe a politician.  What they got was an Avenger.

“Steve Rogers.  _The_ Steve Rogers.  Captain America.  Are we seriously thinking about going after Captain freaking America, that’s got to be definite villain territory right?  Could we even?”  Clint’s words nearly blurred together he spoke them so fast.

Natasha canted her head thoughtfully, “We could together, definitely.  If it had to be one on one?  Bucky has a good shot.”

Clint drug his hands down his face, “Fine, we could…but should we?  I know we’re supposed be professionals but.  Jesus, Nat, the guys an Avenger.  First of all he’s like the goodest of the good guys.  And it’s the _Avengers_ , I don’t think they’d rest until they found out who did one of them in.”

Bucky smirked, “Goodest?”

“Shut up Barnes, you know what I mean.”

Natasha flipped through the freshly printed paper still warm on her fingertips.  The file detailed Rogers’ schedule, his known abilities, and oddly a list of crimes he was never prosecuted of.  People tended to not feel like they needed to justify to them why they wanted a person dead.  That wasn’t how the hired gun thing generally worked, it wasn’t in their job description to care.  A.P. apparently wanted them to know Rogers has it coming.  The list detailed the names and ages of the people who died because of Rogers’ recklessness, the apocalyptic scale destruction he’d wrought.  Natasha didn’t finish reading.  She didn’t care really, any one of them had done worse at one point or another.  It wasn’t their job to judge the target, what bothered her though was the fact A.P. tried to manipulate them through some ill-conceived notion of their better nature.  That A.P. thought to make sure they were convinced meant whoever they were they knew enough about them to know they took jobs on a case by case basis and lived with a loose code of sorts.  Knowing even that much was too much to Natasha.  Bucky made himself busy staring at the picture of Roger’s included with a small frown gracing his features. She was ready to agree with Clint when she got to the end of the file where a small note was included.  A new offer and a promise.

Natasha read aloud, “Upon completion, I am prepared to tweak the initial offer,” Natasha showed the boys the new amount with the extra zero added on the end and Clint almost hit the floor, “and my organization’s grantee to wipe all records of the Winter Soldier and Black Widow programs from history.  I promise that is something fully in our capabilities.”

Bucky grits his teeth, “They know who we are.”  Sure they had a reputation but most of that were just ghost stories, they never showed their faces.  A.P. said programs, they knew things about them very few people in the world did.

“You guys are out though, you got out a long damned time ago.  Decades.  What they know or don’t know couldn’t still matter could it?”  Clint isn’t worried about Steve Rogers anymore.  He’s worried about the fury simmering under Bucky’s skin and the cold, distant look in Natasha’s eyes.

Bucky ‘s hands are in fists but he doesn’t move when he speaks the Russian accent sneaks into his words delicately warning the room about his state of mind, “It still matters, Clint.  Triggers are still in us, sitting idle like fucking poison.  Whoever is offering us this isn’t just making us an offer: It’s a threat.”

“Captain America goes or we do.”  Clint guesses.

“Not that simple,”  Natasha stacks the paper neatly on the computer desk, “We did a lot of damage in the old days Clint.  It wasn’t the same as now.  We weren’t people, not really.  The world was either targets or handlers and nothing else mattered but the mission.  With the right words in the wrong hands Bucky and I…”

“I get it Tasha, I really do.  But you are wrong on one thing:  You and Buck were always people, the assholes who had you—they were the ones who weren’t human.”

“They made us killers and we still are, that says something about us too.”  Bucky adds softly.

It did.  It does.  Clint didn’t care, “That’s true.  But you’re a killer who always picks Princess Peach in Mario Kart and I’m not sure what to do with that, man.”  The quip earned a rare real Bucky Barnes smile, small and fragile thing that made his eyes crinkle at the edges.  “So, what are we going to do?”

Natasha assessed Bucky and Clint and found they were in agreement.

In her most devil-may-care voice she says, “Let’s go kill Captain America.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

 

Chapter 2

 

A second later Natasha tells a stunned room, “We’re not really going to kill Captain America, Clint.”

“Oh, thank God,” Clint leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, “My Gramma would never forgive me.”

Bucky took a step away from him making Clint almost fall, “I thought your grandma was dead?”

“She is, that doesn’t mean I can’t still try and live up to her impossible moral standards, Bucky.”

Natasha eyed them both until they quieted, “ _Buuut—“_

“Damnit.”

“Shut it, Clint.”

“Well, excuse me, Buck, when I signed on to the Assassin’s Guild I thought not fucking with the Avengers was a give-in.”

“Not an Assassin’s Guild.”

Clint throws his hands in the air, “Just let me have that one thing.  One thing in our entire friendship.”

Bucky stared at Clint and Clint stared back, Bucky crossed his arms and said, “Not an Assassin’s Guild.”

With a loud, exaggerated sigh Natasha ignored them both and sat at the computer desk.  She composed the usual acceptance message and sent it.  The other two didn’t notice what she was doing until Natasha had already hit enter with a flair of her hand.

“Um, that’s the opposite of not doing the thing, Tasha!”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  She retrieved the file on Steve Rogers and shoved it at Clint’s chest, “We’re not going to kill Captain America.  Because first of all you’re right, the Avengers would be a problem, secondly he doesn’t fit in our wheel house. _But_ , we are going to make it look like we’re going to kill Captain America.”  Natasha’s eyes narrowed and her weight shifted subtly, Bucky recognized the look and grinned sharp as a knife, “Whoever sent us this job knew we could do it.  They think they know us, but they should’ve known not to fuck with us.”

Clint nodded, “You wanna go after the employer.”

“And to do that,” Bucky added, “we got to go through Rogers.  Treat him like the target until the real one shows up.”

“Gold stars all around.”  Natasha says.

First, they read-up.  A surprising amount of reading was required in their business.  Not a lot of math though, unless you were a sniper, so there was at least that.  They combed the file they were sent and the internet for anything related to Rogers, slowly compiling a list of people who would want the Star Spangled Man with a Plan (Clint found that song ten minutes in and had on repeat until Bucky crushed his phone) dead.  The list was _long_.  They cut out the supervillains immediately because it was just a fact if those guys wanted Rogers dead they would do it themselves and be seen doing it.  Next went anyone who couldn’t afford them, considering the amount they were offered for Rogers that was quite a lot of folks.  Along with a list of enemies they made a list of friends because the three of them were all too aware through their own experiences that sometimes those were the same things.  That list of course included the Avengers: Thor, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, and on occasion James Rhodes who was known to fill in for Iron Man should the need arise.  Finally there was of course, S.H.I.E.L.D.

As far as shady pseudo government agencies went S.H.I.E.L.D. was high up on the latter.  Filled with good agents, skilled, but they were impossible to trust.  Natasha and Clint thought about joining the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. once upon a time, Bucky convinced them not to.  He couldn’t explain the reason but Bucky wasn’t exactly stable at the time so they’d just taken him on his word not trust S.H.I.E.L.D.   If Bucky Barnes told you something was no good, it was no good.  Getting solid intel on them would be difficult, but they were professionals.  Sort of.

The three of them were stuffed on the “office sofa” again sorting through the last of the most easily attainable information on Rogers, paper covered the coffee table and the wii remotes were sadly tossed under it.  Clint fiddled with his hearing aid and shifted to accommodate both Natasha’s and Bucky’s sock covered feet on his lap.  Bucky had the hyper-focused look on his face, the one that said he was getting tired of absorbing information and was ready to get out there and hit something.  To anyone else the look would’ve just looked like the tiniest of frowns. 

Clint sighed, “We spend too much time together.”

Bucky and Natasha ignored him.

“Definitely too much time…You look like a metal arm-clad man with a plan, Buck, care to share?”  Clint was going to have that song stuck in his head for days.

Bucky was often the go-to guy when it came to who went where and when.  Back in the day he’d done a lot of shit on his own but he was also a team leader for plenty of operations, wetwork mostly.  They’d made him to follow orders but to also assess a situation in the most efficient way possible and act accordingly.  Clint said it once, Clint would say it a thousand times, the red room was fucking scary but in all honesty Bucky could be just as terrifying.

“Two nests on the Avenger’s tower, east entrance and the helipad.  Natasha on the ground.  Rogers doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to live off Tony Stark’s money no matter how much they work together—he has his own place and we need to know where.  We’ll track the other Avengers the same way, take whoever comes first in shifts but Rogers is priority one.  I was thinking a backstory for you, Nat.  Get you in there to make contact.  The background check there is gonna be brutal, you can handle that part though, we need decide how close you want to get.”  Bucky rattled off orders like he was talking to soldiers all lined up in parade rest not his two best friends on a well-used sofa.  They didn’t mind, it was just the way Bucky worked sometimes.  More soldier, less wise-cracking asshole that liked Dostoevsky too much and had a subscription to Wired.

Natasha smirked, “Close.”

Clint dug out an untouched bag of Doritos from the sofa cushions that had escape their initial snack raid, “The amount of joy you get out of emotionally manipulating people and possibly mentally slash physically scarring them is disturbing, Natasha.”

Natasha leaned in close to him, a small smile hitching up the corners of her mouth so that it was almost demure.  She slid a red painted fingernail gently down his cheek and said, “I know.”  She retreated to the other side of the sofa and it takes a five whole seconds for Clint to realize his Doritos were gone.  Betrayed, Clint watched her break the bag open and offer some to Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes, “Were you able to track anything back to our new friend with all that green?”

“No,” Natasha shakes her head, “Not one thread.  They knew what they were doing.  Their digital trace is…well, whoever sent it is slightly smarter than me.”

Bucky and Clint send her matching looks and she defends, “Slightly.”

Natasha notices that Bucky’s attention keeps getting dragged away by Roger’s picture.  She would have made a joke about a crush but there was something about the way Bucky stared, like he was trying to remember something important.  When it came to Bucky’s memory no one made jokes, it was personal and respected.  Natasha couldn’t help her curiosity though and makes a note in her mind, it was her job to look after her boys after all.

“Sounds like boots on the ground is our best option no matter what.”  Clint says, “Was there an expiration date on this invitation to good times?”

“No, just a request for proof of death.”  Replies Natasha.

“That’s gonna be a problem.”

“Things go well,” Bucky interjects finally looking away from the photo, “and we shouldn’t have to provide shit.”

“Every time somebody says something like that I can hear the universe laugh at us.”  Clint pouts.  His legs were beginning to cramp up; research was never his favorite part of the job.  And Bucky giving Captain America’s picture his creepy “I crushed a guy’s neck with my metal arm once” face was making him even antsier.  Clint kind of wanted to get out there tonight, always ready to leap without looking, but they still needed to get their gear together and hammer out who was gonna do what detail.  Natasha had to pull a whole credible identity together.  Even for her that would take a couple of days.  He and Bucky would be taking their posts tomorrow bright and early though.

“Captain America’s mine.”  Bucky says when Clint brings it up.  He says it with a kind of vehemence that surprises all of them including himself.

“Okay, bro, he’s yours.  No big thing.  I always wanted to see those Iron Man suits myself anyway.  Maybe get to see Thor fly, that’d be cool.”

Natasha stands leaving Clint with a suddenly colder right side, he grumbles at that and leans a little more into Bucky’s space.  She picks up most of the trash on her way to get her jacket off the back of the office computer chair and shoots a pointed look to Clint who gathers up the strewn papers on the table into a couple of more or less neat little piles, one of which was wholly on Rogers.  Bucky takes that one and holds in his lap.

“I need to feed Liho,” says Natasha, “Both of you go home, gets some sleep and stop pawning Lucky off on Kate, Barton.”

Clint looks worried, “You talk to Kate?”

“I talked to Kate.”  Bucky chimes.

“What?  When?”

“Believe me it was a harrowing experience for all,” Natasha grins, “and yes, she and I have lunch.  Often.”

“You checking up on me, Romanoff?”

Natasha’s smile turns gentle, “Always.  If I come in in the morning and I can tell you stayed on the sofa again because you’re too lazy to take a taxi I’m kicking your ass.”

“Aye, aye, Captain…see what I did there?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”  Bucky groans, Natasha just shakes her head and leaves.

The door clicks shut and Clint immediately turns to Bucky, “Okay, sniper-bro real talk, you okay?  You’re hanging onto that file like somebody’s gonna take it away from you.”

Bucky rolls his shoulders, “I’m good.”  He’s not, instead of explaining the strange sense of a pit forming inside him Bucky zips up his leather jacket he seemed to never take off and says, “See you tomorrow, stay frosty Barton.”

Clint frowns, “Yeah…”

Clint watches Bucky leave, not liking Bucky dealing with something that’s bothering him so much on his own.  He’d thought they were past that.  He sighs and lays down the sofa, using the armrest as a pillow.  If Clint falls asleep there it's an honest accident and Natasha would never know.  Probably.

 

           


	3. Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3

 

“Do you know how much I hate that thing?”  Clint Barton is sitting snug as bug on top of a water tower for the fanciest downtown apartment complex he’s ever set foot on.  It’s only a street away from the Avengers tower, through the scope on his bow he has a perfect view of Bucky or at least a sliver of black he knew was Bucky with his sniper rifle roosted in a window facing the front of the very same building.

He doesn’t hear the sigh but he can imagine it before Bucky responds with a grumble through the comms, “What thing?”

“The scary black ninja mask, man.  It…I don’t know it’s just unsettling.”  Clint doesn’t say the mask bothers him because he knows the mask is the same one Bucky used to wear when he was fulltime Winter Soldier.  He doesn’t say it reminds him of masters muzzling in their attack dogs.

“What should I be wearing to keep myself from being recognizable, then?  A pair of purple sunglasses?”

“A: rude, these shades are _custom_. B: if you’re as good as you say no one should be seeing you anyway, Batman.  Or should I say Bane?”

“What did I say about the Batman references?”

“I don’t remember but I’m pretty sure the answer was bite me, Batman.”

“I should have left your ass on the couch for Natasha to find.”

 “Whatever you say, Batman. Uuggh, you got a visual on anything over there yet?”  Neither of them were strangers to sitting in position for long periods of time looking through scopes but the day was hot and the only people they’ve seen go in and out of the building were actual Stark Industries employees.  They were going on twelve hours now.  Not to mention their mission get-ups weren’t exactly heat friendly.  Clint had no idea Bucky could breathe in that mask of his.

“Negative.”  Bucky’s voice sounded a little distorted than was normal for radio comms, their line was secure.  Like, Winter Soldier and Black Widow secure, but they weren’t all still alive because they weren’t cautious.

Clint drops the teasing nature out of his voice, “Be advised, Winter, we’ve got inference on comms.”

“Copy that, Hawkeye,” the radio cuts out and fuzzes back to life, “…perimeter, better watch your ass.”

“Shit,” Clint curses to himself, “Did not copy that, Winter Soldier I did not copy that.”

The radio in his ear makes a _kkkkiiiissk_ noise and he jumps then Bucky’s amused voice filters through, “Look above you, mudak.”

Clint does.  Now, he was no meteorologist, but he was sure thunder clouds were not meant to move like that or have that self-contained lightening running through out it like that either.  He was very suddenly aware that his water tower was a big chunk of highly conductive metal.  The cloud is swirling around a single point, a figure, like an electrified tornado that was moving very quickly toward Avengers tower.  The figure swoops in so fast Clint can’t really make it out until it lands with a brutish sort of grace on the helipad.  The big billowing red cap and hammer were kind of a giveaway as to who it was.  The moment Thor’s boots touched the helipad the cloud of lightning dispersed and so did the radio interference.

“Holy shit, I got a visual on Thor.  Guy looks pissed.”  Clint relays.  Thor does indeed look pissed.  He marches inside the tower and Clint really wished Natasha had gotten in already.  She would’ve been able to bug the place but as it was she wasn’t going to be able to give them any audio until a couple of more days.

“What do you think—”

Clint’s inquiry is cut off by war raining down on Manhattan. One moment they were waiting for some kind of Avengers domestic dispute the next a skyscraper was getting blown up.  The explosion is close enough Clint can feel the heat come off it.  Thor comes blasting out of the Tower alongside Iron man.  Bucky tells him Rogers, Scarlet Witch, and Quicksilvers just exited the base of the building heading toward the smoke and flames.

“Keep eyes on the target.”  Bucky orders.

“Are you serious, right now?”

“Eyes on target, Hawkeye.”

“Aw, man.”  He spots Bucky swing out of his window up to a roof from the outside like some sort of scary-ass leather-clad ballerina.  Bucky lands heavily on his feet and starts sprinting across rooftops after the Avengers.

Clint stands, slings his bows across his back, straightens his sunglasses and whispers, “Parkour.”  He jumps from his position from the water tower to the loose gravel of the roof below him, landing in a roll.  It hurts, a lot and Natasha’s probably gonna have to dig a few pebbles out of his scalp but Clint doesn’t stop.  Bucky and Clint travel in a parallel line from each other maintaining their distance almost exactly.  Clint knows Bucky isn’t going to his full speed, the guy could be a freight train, but Bucky would never leave him behind in a potentially dangerous situation.  The care is appreciated, sort of. 

The two get to the epicenter of the explosion and find what Clint would call “Out of their Fucking League”, Bucky just grinned.  No one could tell with that mask of his but Clint totally knew Bucky was grinning because he was freaking crazy.  Bucky would deny it but the sight before him was a bit flooring.  Like the first time he could remember looking up at the night sky, that was in St. Petersburg but it was called Leningrad at the time.  There was a hole in the ground but that was oversimplifying the situation.  The bombed skyscraper was getting sucked down into the ground by a black hole turning with a sickly greenish light.  Out of which were crawling , well, Bucky was going to call them lizards.  Lizards the size of tigers and apparently very aggressive.

In his detached way Bucky watched the Avengers keep the monsters at bay.  Quicksilver was a blur around the devastation’s perimeter managing to keep all the not-lizard lizard stay in that area.  Iron Man and Thor rained lightning and little missiles from above.  Scarlet Witch, Bucky wasn’t sure what that girl was doing.  Something with scary red light.  Steve though, he meant Captain America, that guy was a battling ram.  His shield boomeranged around the battlefield and the Captain was moving just as fast, slamming his fists into monsters picking one up by the tail and swinging it into the sky for Thor to fry.  Yeah, okay, that was kind of cool.  The monsters are thinning out but the one’s crawling out of the black hole using the still slowly sinking burning building like a latter are twice as big and Bucky has seen this movie, the Avengers needed to get that portal closed before something really big came out.

Through his sniper’s scope Bucky catches Clint diving behind an air-conditioning unit and out of sight.  His angle was good, no one was going to see him.  Bucky was a little more out in the open than he preferred, lying flat on his stomach on the tallest building he could get to.  Thor and Iron Man were still in the air and there was chance he could be seen.  He needed to move.  Before he can his eye is caught by one of the creatures snapping its jaws and hurtling itself at the Captain from behind, the Captain is too busy being too fast and dealing with the enemies before him to watch his own back.  All of the Avengers are occupied and Bucky waits for the Captain to turn around for his instincts he knows the guy has to have to kick in.  He waits until the last second and Bucky realizes the Captain isn’t going to turn around.  Bucky adjusts his sights, breathes out and shoots the creature right between its many faceted eyes while it’s mid-leap.  Its lifeless body is thrown against the Captain’s back and finally he jumps-to.  The Captain looks down at the creature, the bullet hole and his eyes shoot right to the building Bucky’s roosted in.

“Winter Soldier, your position is compromised.”  Clint’s voice is controlled and professional, very at odds with the man Bucky found snuggled into the couch cushions that morning missing a sock.

“Copy that, Hawkeye, I’m falling back.”  For some reason Bucky expected the Captain to look up and salute him, he doesn’t he’s already swarmed by lizards again to take stock of the friendly neighborhood sniper.  Bucky reeled; there was something about the Captain that bothered him.  Familiarity, like the “have I kicked this guy in the face before” type of familiarity.   Of course, it was more than that but Bucky wouldn’t let phantom feelings shake him up.  He was done with that.

Bucky shifts back out sight from anyone on the ground or in the air, he leaps from one rooftop to another further away from the battle but still within his sights.  He settles next to a rooftop access door and breathes a sigh of relief.  He taps the radio in his ear and says, “Position secure.”

“Affirmative.  I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you save someone on a job.”

“Unsettling?”

“No, felt kind of nice.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.  We got an incoming UFHM, your three o’clock.”

Bucky scowls at his own boots, “Stop making up acronyms.  What the hell does that even mean?”

“Unidentified Flying Handsome Man.”

Bucky doesn’t even respond to that.  He whips his head around and see’s the expanse of mechanical wings first then he identifies the man as the Falcon, fashionably late to the party.  The Falcon very noticeably takes stock of Bucky’s previous spot before diving down into the fray.  The Captain reported what happened to the others then, they’re going to be on the lookout now, fantastic.  Bucky lets Clint know that fun fact.

“Damn.”  Clints says over the comms, “Not for nothing, man, but the guy is Captain freaking America.  I would’ve bet he could’ve handled baby Godzilla so why again did you take that shot?”

Bucky starts to drown in the urge to punch Captain America, and Clint, and himself.  “I don’t know.  I just… _had_ to.”

“Nat’s gonna kick both of our asses.  Maybe even kill us if we don’t get sucked into the Earth first.  If she is I’d tell you it’s been an honor but it’s in fact been a nightmare, so thanks for that, bro.”

The swirling black hole in the ground is emitting less and less light.  Thor rears up into the sky and calls lightning to him while the other Avengers are doing a helluva clean-up job on the ground.  The building is halfway disappeared into the pit when all of Thor’s power hits it.  Lightning merges with green light and Bucky can smell the ozone in the air.  A monstrous cracking sounds out and the portal shutters closed.  The last of the lizards are defeated on the ground then turn to wispy green smoke as the portal dies.

Thor, furious roars, “Show yourself Loki!”

Clint mutters in Bucky’s ear, “What the fuck is a Loki?”

Natasha’s voice suddenly bursts over both of their comms and makes them flinch, “I dunno, boys.  Something neither of you are capable of being?”

“What’s your twenty, Black Widow?”   Bucky asks.  He knows she’s not there with them.

“Mordor,”  Natasha responds, “Except the only eyes here are gonna be ours.”  Surveillance on Avengers Tower then, permanent eyes on the outside for moments when Clint and Bucky were otherwise occupied.

“What, you’re fine with _her_ references?”  Clint huffs, “Shit.  Be advised, Winter Soldier, your boy is on the look-out.”

Sure enough the Captain was taking animatedly with the Falcon, they were joined a by a curious Iron Man.  Whoever Loki was he or she didn’t show and Thor was visibly deflated for it. This Loki was apparently responsible for the portal but nothing came of it.  Randomly opening up one of these things in the middle of New York looked like nothing more than a distraction to Bucky.  But what did he know?  Superhero problems were not his problems they’d figure out later for themselves they’d been had.  The Maximoffs were actually attempting to clean up their mess a little, a few power lines had fallen along with some trees and the two worked to clear the streets.  It takes them seconds but Bucky likes them a little more for it, those two kids _cared_.  Not that the Captain and his accompanying boy band didn’t, they were too busy peering around them suspiciously.  The Captain looks down at the ground then picks up a smashed rifled bullet lodged in the ground.  It’s Bucky’s of course but he’s not worried. Those were Soviet slugs, no rifling and impossible to match.  Iron Man shrugs, or does his best impression of a shrug in that armor.  He takes the bullet and blasts off back in the direction of the Tower.  The battle was done but Bucky had the distinct feeling the Avengers missed something.  It was all a bit anticlimactic.

“Looks like all the chickens are going back home to roost.”  Clint narrates the sight before him.  The Maximoffs, Thor, and Iron Man are already well on their way.  It’s just Captain America and Falcon slowly walking away from the field.  They’re still looking around.  Clint sees the Falcon grin and clap the Captain on the Back.  The Captain smiles a little at him, it’s a sad smile Clint thinks.

The Captain takes off his helmet when he reaches his bike and exchanges it for a regular full-coverage bike helmet.  He throws on a brown leather jacket over his suit which had to be hot as hell but altogether makes him virtually unrecognizable.  Falcon and the Captain shake hands before the Falcon blasts off into the air.  Bucky and Clint expect the Captain to head back toward Avengers Tower with his friends but he doesn’t.

“You got him, Winter?”  Clint asks in a rush, unsure which way to go until Bucky gave him the say-so.

“Affirmative.  This is New York, I can keep up.”

“Maybe you should let Hawkeye, trail him Soldier.”  Natasha tells Bucky.  He’s already shifting from shadow to shadow over buildings and fire escapes.  The setting sun gives him plenty to work with.  Clint hesitates before chasing after the Avengers, cameras are all well and good but he’s got the best eyes in the business.  Besides, there was no taking Bucky off a target.

“Nyet.  I got this.”

“We’re talking about what happened today when you get back, Soldier.”

Bucky doesn’t respond then makes a particularly hard jump to catch up to the speeding bike on the street below him.  He would have thught Captain America would drive more considerately than he did.  Honestly the punk drove like an asshole.  Bucky read that the Captain was a Brooklyn boy, just like him, maybe that’s where the shitty road etiquette came from.  There was no traversing the roads of the city in a timely matter without being a little bit of a dick.  He also keeps one eye on the sky.  He’s moving semi in the open and doesn’t want to get caught off guard again by an incoming aerial superhero.  Freaking superheroes, the prospect would put any one off kilter.  Bucky was the Winter Soldier though, and the Soldier was never off anything.  Expect maybe his own rocker, Bucky smiled behind his mask at his own expense.  He was allowed those jokes, he _earned_ them.

Captain America’s bike stops at an older apartment building overlooking the river in a neighborhood that was just a little rough, the grandma’s still outnumbered the gangbangers and if anyone knew Captain America lived there Bucky would bet the place would’ve been a one hundred percent grandma utopia.  The Captain pulls into an alley, Bucky blinks and both the bike and its rider disappear.  Bucky tilts his head and focuses; he can just make out the waver in the reflected image.  Cloaking.  Bucky tilts his head back and mentally groans.  He was going to have to go window to window like a creeper, pretty much the worst part of his job.  Even so he was relaxed.  The sun was officially down for the count and night was sweeping over New York in jagged dark edges.  Bucky waited one hour before surging into action.  The street lights in that neighborhood glowed dull orange and lit pretty much shit.  A shadow in the shape of the Winter Soldier skirted around them easily.  Bucky leapt up a fire escape on the other side of the apartment complex from the cloaked alley.  He psychologically prepared himself for seeing a bunch of things about strangers he probably wasn’t going to be able to un-see, people got fucking weird when they think nobody is looking.  Clint, Natasha, and Bucky made a drinking game out of it, like “Have you ever” only the privacy getting violated in their games belonged to strangers.

Bucky’s plan was to start at the top of the building and work his way down except when he planted his feet on the roof all of his senses lit up in warning.  He dropped to a crouch and slipped under the nearest cover in the form of a small rooftop shed assumedly for the healthy little garden that took up a quarter of the roof.  Bucky peered through his scope at the area around him, his eyes land on a familiar figure.  He notices the white paint first, a stylized skull on a black mask and a large X across a broad chest.  His working name was Crossbones and he was a total dick, really, that’s what Clint had scribbled in his shitty handwriting in the file they kept on Crossbones at the office.  Crossbones was hunched over a rooftop ledge with his own poised rifle, he hadn’t noticed Bucky yet because his attention was already fully on the window of a corner apartment facing the water.  Bucky doesn’t take a single breath between moving from where he was to the closest building over.  He moves as fast as he can and loops around to Crossbones’ position.  He’s silently running toward Crossbones’ crouched figure when he hears the soft click of the rifle with a sound suppresser on it go off, he’s not fast enough.  It sounded similar to the sharp thwack noise Clint’s bow made with no arrow in it.

Bucky’s heart makes an awful panicked stutter in his chest.  Crossbones can only get out a surprised grunt before Bucky takes the butt of his rifle and hits him in the back of the head hard enough to put him out but not kill him.  Bucky looks down his scope to see Steve Rogers staring angrily straight back at him.  A red circle is blossoming on the Captain’s shoulder that lines up with the bullet sized hole in the window’s fractured glass.  Bucky leaves Crossbones there and bolts, he doesn’t have a choice.  He never looks behind him as he runs from building to building but he can hear the Captain behind him going through shit like a wrecking ball.  Bucky takes a dive unto a short building and lands in a roll without losing momentum, the Captain right behind him crashed through a damned window.  Bucky hears a metallic swoosh and knows what coming for him, he stops in split second and catches the shield the Captain just threw it his freaking head like a Frisbee which, wow, rude.  Roger’s face goes slack with shock.  Maybe for the metal arm maybe for the fact no one has ever caught Captain America’s shield before, Bucky smothers and eye roll in face of the  tension filled stare-down he was getting.  It was a lot different looking at Rogers up-close and personal with no scope between him.  Steve Rogers is… sort of pretty.  In wake of that revelation Bucky gets a surge of phantom pain from his metal arm.  He hates it and for a second he hates Rogers and can’t say why.  Angrily Bucky throws the shield back with a helluva lot of force, enough force to send the Captain skidding back at least a couple of feet.  Then Bucky swandives off the building catches an open window ledge and swings himself deftly inside.

Bucky breathes out and starts making his way out of the building carefully and quietly to the other side, he doesn’t radio Natasha until he’s already four blocks away.

“Black Widow, come in.”

“Go ahead, Soldier.”

“I’ve been made.”

Natasha throws professionalism to the wind because she honestly can’t believe what she’s hearing, “The fuck you say?”

“Rogers made me.  Rumlow was here, he tried to take a shot at Rogers.  Missed.  But now I’m pretty sure Rogers thinks I’m out to kill him.”  Ridiculous, because if Bucky Barnes was out to kill someone they’d be dead, he didn’t miss.  He also couldn’t help but find it a little bit amusing because he was _supposed_ to be killing Rogers.

“Damn.  Alright, come in from the cold, Soldier.  I’ll crack open the good stuff.”

Bucky scoffs, “the cold” she says.  He was sweating his ass off.  Bucky scoffs again when he gets to their office and the “good stuff” turns out to be a fancy brand of Russian chocolate Natasha had specially imported every month.  He’s going to eat it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Chapter 4

 

“Fuckin’ Brock Rumlow.”  Clint spits angrily. “That asshole is a merc, what the hell is he doing in the game?”

For the most part Rumlow AKA Crossbones was a mercenary.  If there was some shady shit going down in the Middle East that was dangerous and bloody you could bet Crossbones was leading the team.  Bucky, Clint, and Natasha all had run into him at one point or another in their careers but no matter what Rumlow got up to he was at the very least predictable.  He wasn’t an assassin, he liked military structure and leading men into battle.  He liked his enemy knowing that he was the one to take them out.

Natasha shrugs with a mouth full of chocolate and her eyes glued to their flat screen which was split into four live camera feeds of Avengers Tower and offers in a not-quite Italian accent, “An offer he couldn’t refuse maybe?”

Bucky had given them a curt report on what happened at Rogers’ place and sat down to start the process of stripping down his rifle on the coffee table, cleaning the parts and putting them back together.  He’s quiet and he still hasn’t taken the tac-paint off from around his eyes though he’s taken most his gear off except for his black pants and a white undershirt.  Natasha scoots chocolate across the table to him every now and then but otherwise leaves him be.  She can tell he’s processing a failed mission and something else he isn’t ready to talk about.  He’s obviously pissed too and it just wasn’t wise to talk to him when he was that mad until he was ready.

Clint scrubs his face, he’s tired from surveillance on top of the tired he always seemed to be he was all too happy to come in after Bucky was made since their protocol was to regroup anyway, “Are we double-crossed by the guy we were gonna double-cross or did he just hire other people, I have to say I’m not the open-relationship kind of guy.”

Natasha nods, “Looks like an insurance policy to me.  It happens; we’re taking our time with this one.  I doubt our employer likes that too much.  There are a lot of variables to consider, Clint.”

“Doesn’t feel right, Tasha.”

“I agree.  For now we keep to the plan.  We’ll back off Rogers, thanks to Rumlow he knows about Bucky,” Bucky stalls his movements for a half a second then resumes assembling the stock of his gun to the rest of it only to take it off again, “Rogers isn’t going to leave that alone.”

One the screen Steve Rogers is parking outside Avengers Tower walking like he was looking for a fight, the time stamp read 4:00 am apparently Rogers kept the same hours as they did or more likely there was no going to sleep after a failed assassination attempt.  Bucky very pointedly doesn’t look up at what has Clint’s and Natasha’s rapt attention.

Clint notes Rogers’ haggard appearance and feels a little sorry for him but not too sorry for him to not wonder, “Hey, we go halfies on the payment?”

“Yeah.  We got the first half yesterday.  Larry is happy.”  Natasha says the name of their landlord like some people mentioned the alligators that lived in the sewers.  Which they did by the way, Clint would swear on it and Bucky would totally back him up

“Doesn’t really matter though does it? We’re never gonna see the other half since we’re gonna kill the guy.”  Bucky says done with the gun maintenance and willing to set aside his frustration with himself.  The rifle stays in three pieces so he can fit it into a black duffle he carries most of his gear in.

“Man, this job is so FUBAR.  How we gonna get employed after this shit?”  Clint grumbles more to himself than anybody.  Watching Bucky messing with his rifle made Clint’s hand itch for his bow, as soon as the thought went through Clint’s head he cringed openly because yeah that sounded kind of dirty.

“Easy,” Bucky states with a force cheerfulness, “We just kill everybody.  Anybody that’s involved we put a bullet in them, da?”

“Da.”  Natasha breezily accepts.

“Just kill everybody?  That’s your plan.  Just kill everybody, man, I love you but that is not a plan that’s a psychosis and Nat you’re an enabler.”

Natasha has to bite her tongue to prevent a smile, the urge is quelled quicker by a S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet landing on Avengers Tower.  The cameras are good but they don’t beat Hawkeye up on a building with a scope so they can’t see who gets out of the jet.  A line forms between Natasha’s eyebrows, her version of a frown, “Those quinjets have cloaking technology but they aren’t using it.”

Clint moves closer, “S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“That’s their emblem.”  Natasha confirms.

“Because that’s inconspicuous, but people know S.H.I.E.L.D. is out there after that crap went down in Sokovia with the robots.  They don’t really have a need to hide anymore.”

“People know S.H.I.E.L.D. is out there,” Bucky concedes, “but they don’t really know what S.H.I.E.L.D.  _is_ , they should be keeping a low profile.” 

“Yeah, they should.  So this is either a show of force or them trying to draw us out.  They know someone other than the media is watching the tower.”  Natasha sighs and leans back.  She knew this wasn’t going to be easy but she had been hoping to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. out of it as long as possible.

Bucky’s face flickers with a complicated disgust the longer they talk about S.H.I.E.L.D.  He asks Natasha about when she was going in on the ground half to stop talking about the agency and half out of genuine want of the information.

“Tomorrow morning.  Pepper Potts is need of an emergency new assistant and I happen to be just what she needs.”

Worriedly Clint asks, “What happened to the old one?”

“She’s on a tropical vacation courtesy of Stark Industries due to her extrodinary work.  She’s probably not going to have job when she gets back but, cracking a few eggs and all.  At least she’ll have a nice tan so calm down Clint.”

“Hey, I trust you with my life…it’s just other people’s lives I’m worried about.”  The fact was Clint would trust Natasha and Bucky to save the whole damned world if they were being paid to do it, hell they would do it over the weekend with minimal fuss and enough time to grab some frozen yogurt.  However if they weren’t being paid the two would happily sit on that couch and play GTA while the world rained fire around them.  They didn’t owe the world shit, Clint knew that, he was also terrifyingly aware he was their ragtag team’s moral compass when the truly tough calls had to be made.  Clint Barton, a moral compass, the world should probably be worried.  He didn’t even fill out his taxes last year, that wasn’t moral compass behavior.  Everyone was doomed.

Bucky drops next to Natasha in a way that reminds Clint of a whale flopping over in the ocean.  Full of false disdain Bucky mutters, “You’re a drama queen, Barton.”

Clint refuses to dignify Bucky with a reply, “I’m going to volunteer for Rumlow Watch.  With him in the works somebody’s gotta watch our asses, have to make sure he doesn’t sneak up on us.”

“There’s no one I’d want watching my ass more.”  Natasha bats her eyelashes, Clint flushes which makes Bucky bark out a short-lived but very real laugh so in Clint’s book his dignity was a small price to pay.

Natasha turns serious, “I’m going to be on the ground but I’m also taking Steve Rogers from here on out.”

“ _Natalia_ —”

“No, James, don’t _Natalia_ me.  What happened tonight wasn’t your fault, we know that.  Shit happens, but you’re too close to this one.  You know it.  I know it.  Take a step back and trust me to handle him.”

Bucky scowls, “I do trust you.”

“And we trust you.  I can tell when you’re off kilter, I’ve known you way too long, you took a shot you didn’t need to with all the Avengers there to see.  That was reckless, there something about Steve Rogers and I know it’s not just some fleeting crush.  Let’s do this job and find out when we’re safe what that something is—together.”

For a long stretch there was no sound except for the barely noticeable soft whir of mechanics in Bucky’s metal arm.  Bucky sighs and settles further into the sofa cushions.  He loves their couch, its soft and red.  Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound defeated but it does ring with a hollowness that’s undefinable unless you lived the life he had to, “Fine.  You’re right.  I’ll take  S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“You sure about that, Buck?”  Clint remembered very vividly the way Bucky had told them under no uncertain terms to stay the hell away from the organization.

“I have some contacts that might know a thing or two.  I’ll talk to ‘em while Nat’s playing secretary for House Stark.”  Bucky’s already flipping through his mobile, ironically a Stark brand cell phone and the latest model to boot.

Clint twitches, “So…is it just you’re guys’ super nerdy swords and sorcery crap you’re okay referencing or what?”

“Shuddap, Barton.”  A cushion is sent flying Clint’s way which he dodges thanks to his honed reflexes and not because Bucky put zero effort into the throw but still managed to throw it right where Clint was standing despite not even looking behind him.

Natasha is still systematically cataloging everything on their live feed of the Tower when she asks, “You have contacts that know a thing or two about S.H.I.E.L.D. huh?  You’re talking about that girl aren’t you?”

Clint frowns, “No. Not her.  Not again.  She was a nightmare.”

“Full of questions.”  Natasha says by way of agreeing with Clint’s sentiment.

“Lives in a van.”

“You lived in a van most of your life asshole, don’t judge.”  Bucky defends.

“That was different.  That was the circus.”

“She’s smart.”

“Too smart.  And she saw you shoot her boss point blank in the face and was apparently cool with it, she’s an odd one.  It’s hard to tell where her loyalties lie.”

“She’s the best hacker I’ve ever met.  We need her.”

“Fine.  Do what you want, be careful with her though, she’s still just a kid.”  Natasha’s skepticism could turn to concern on a dime.  Bucky knew the concern was always there first and the skepticism came later, a natural defense he didn’t think even she was aware of sometimes.

“The kid is solid.  I mostly trust her.”

“Mostly?”

“That’s more than I give the other shady fucks we work with.” Bucky shoots a pointed look to Clint.

“Rude.”

Bucky grins pressing the dial on his mobile’s touchscreen, it rings once before the other end is patched through.  Bucky doesn’t bother with hellos and gets straight to the point, “Skye, how would you like to work with the Winter Soldier?”

The excited squeal from the other line was heard by the whole room despite the fact Skye wasn’t on speaker.

Natasha smirks, “Guess that’s a yes.”

Bucky shakes his head at something Skye says, “No, this doesn’t mean you can join our Assassin’s Guild, which we aren’t by the way.

Clint skids in front of Bucky and excitedly signs “I told you so” with his hands before pumping his arms in victory because he was actually a child.  Bucky covertly slips his ankle between Clint’s feet and trips him when Clint makes to move away because Bucky was also a child though a much more stoic one.  Natasha doesn’t bother breaking them up.  Their energy was good, they were going need it.  Nobody would be sleeping that night.  Too much crime to do, so much crime.  Honestly, Natasha was just a little bit _excited_.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments, they give me life. The two chapters at a time thing is probably gonna be less frequent but hopefully updates will become more frequent one chapter at a time. Hopefully.

 

Chapter 5

 

 

The sharp clack of high heels on the waxed floor of the Avengers Tower entryway was not an uncommon one.  The Tower was after all still very much connected to Stark Industries and the CEO of Stark Industries was often at the Tower which at this point served more often than not as a jumping off platform for publicity for both Stark Industries and the Avengers.  Still, Natalie Rushman powering through the Tower like she owned it in those blood red heels of hers got a few looks.  Anyone who was brave enough to make eye contact with her received a gracious smile just so “Natalie” could watch them blush.  Natasha really liked undercover work, her skills in the past were honed for it and she liked creating these fictional identities then living through them.  Like Natalie Rushman, who was a career corporate secretary meaning she kept big bosses afloat singlehandedly while the other had that morning’s coffee.

That morning she was on her first errand run for Ms. Potts who for some reason was having trouble getting emails through to a one Anthony Stark.  A Black Widow sabotaged system can do that.  She let Ms. Potts see just the right mix of eagerness and resignation in her face when she was asked to hand-deliver documents for Mr. Stark to sign.  Eagerness to impress her new boss and resignation for the out of the way trip she had to make along with a subtle healthy dose of being obviously unimpressed with Tony Stark. Ms. Potts was an extremely hard woman to fool, Natasha actually respected her which was one hell of an achievement for anyone unwitting or not, but Natasha was the best at this sort of thing and she was on a job.  She still shared the “mission is all” mentality that Bucky did, while she would never admit it she also had a hard time shaking it off too, her boys had enough to deal with already and so she kept that to herself.

A one day pass got her through the Tower’s security, Stark was expecting her so the most she got was a very light-handed pat-down at the second floor.  It wasn’t like anyone would think she could hide much in her silk blouse and black pencil skirt.  They would be wrong of course, her bra in fact had three hidden knives in it rigged courtesy of the Winter Soldier, if Bucky was good at anything it was stashing an innumerable amount of weapons on a body.  When Natasha had given Bucky the bra and said , “Do what you can.” he didn’t even blink before he thoughtfully replied “I need fifteen minutes…and a pair of pliers.”  Oh if Natasha had a dollar for every time she’d heard Bucky say that sentence.  She would have, like, a whole lot of dollars.  One of these days she was going to have him make a complete set, maybe a garter belt.  Could he put a discrete holster on one of those without weighing down? Natasha would ask him later but she was betting he could.

Natasha reached the penthouse and was announced before she got a single knock on the door by a pleasant-sounding British voice coming from above her head.  She was surprised but it didn’t show, instead she plastered on her polite “Natalie Rushman smile”.  All business, a tinge curious because who wouldn’t be standing where she was standing.  Well, Natasha Romanov wouldn’t be but she wasn’t Natasha right now.  She let Natalie fully meld into her, physically the change was slight.  Her shoulders drew back into perfect posture but she didn’t raise her chin up, body language was just an important as the smallest hint of Boston accent she colored the odd word with like she was trying to hide it.

The doors slid open smoothly and the voice added, “Sir is still in the lab, Ms. Rushman, however Ms. Potts gave you unrestricted access to many areas so if you would like I shall direct you there, or if you prefer to wait there should be fresh coffee in the kitchen.”  The voice said “should” be like he wasn’t quite sure which was odd considering Natasha was pretty sure the voice was a very advanced A.I.  Clint would hate it, a quip about Skynet ready to go, Bucky would have a thousand questions and would want to see the mainframe.  Each in a nerdtastic world of their own.

“The lab, if you please.”

“Of course, Ms. Rushman.  I am J.A.R.V.I.S., should you require anything while you’re here please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”  Natasha hugged the tablet and folders in her hands to her chest in a way that would be seen as protectively and followed the A.I.’s directions to Stark’s personal lab. 

The whole of the Tower was remarkably modern and sleek but Stark’s actual floor was all that and more except, oddly enough, for the actual lab.  The lab resembled a garage more than the word lab implied. Music blared unapologetically loud though it was lowered by the A.I. when she found herself standing at the glass walls separating her from the crouched figure of Tony Stark.  Jarvis announced her presence and Stark shot up out of the pile of metal rubble he was rummaging in.  The man looked sleep deprived and too awake at the same time.

Stark stared at her a second then his gaze went up and down over her form like a habit rather than any real interest, “Huh.  Hi.”  He waved her in wearily.

“Rushman, right?  Can I call you Natalie? I’m going to call you Natalie. I’d shake your hand but—” he waved his grease covered fingers at her.

Natasha couldn’t believe the disaster in front of her eyes was Iron Man, “Not a problem Mr. Stark.  However you might want to clean up.  We have business to attend to.”

Stark groaned dramatically, “All business and no play makes Tony a sad boy.  Never dull though, at least not today.”  He gives her a more heated look than his cursory first glance that still looked practiced to Natasha.  Out of nowhere he pulled out a bag of dried blueberries and shook it at her in offering.  The grin that split his face when she actually took one was the first genuine thing about him she saw.  It made Natasha want to eat him alive because Tony Stark seemed not so terrible, and that was a goddamned problem.

Sitting at the office was Bucky and Clint watching Tony Stark flirt shamelessly with Natasha.  Clint’s face was a bit too close to the screen, “I don’t like him.”  He says damningly.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “You don’t like him Looking at Nat like she’s a Happy Meal.”

“What and _you_ do?”

“Of course not.  This what she does though, she doesn’t need either of us hovering.”

Clint frowns, his eyes track Stark on the screen who is doing a crappy job of wiping off his hands on towel, he squints and repeats, “I don’t like him.”

Bucky shrugs, tilts his head appraisingly, “I dunno.  There’s something about him.”  He’s joking but he also isn’t, there _is_ something about Tony Stark.  A familiarity that made him want to get a drink with him.  Not the same thing he felt when he looked at Rogers, which was kind of a…pain, he guessed, like an old wound that never healed properly.

Clint turns his accusatory gaze towards Bucky, “I thought you’re supposed to be meeting with Skye.”

Bucky lets him win this one, “I’m one my way.” He says motioning down at his street clothes.  Or his “death metal model” clothes as Clint so helpfully liked to say.  Leather jacket, leather gloves, a Clash t-shirt, and jeans that were a little too long for the boots he wore. Bucky liked his clothes so any and all remarks Clint “white t-shirts and sweatpants are perfect everyday wear please don’t mind the stains” Barton had for him were met with two fingers in the air.

“Are you just moving so fast I can’t see it or…?”

“You make that sound like it’s hard, Barton.”

Clint scoffed, pointed to his eyes then to Bucky in a “got my eyes on you” gesture, “Hawkeye, Barnes.  Friggin’ Hawkeye.”

Bucky gave him a blank-faced stare, “I have no idea what the even means but I’ve got a girl to meet in a van so stop cramping Natasha’s style, get a bagel or something.”

“Aw, I forgot about those.  There any left?”

Bucky levels him with a look and doesn’t answer opting instead to leave him in his bagel despair/Natasha watching misery because he really did have to go see a girl in a van.

Skye’s van sat behind a red brick coffee shop not far from Clint’s place in Bed-stuy in a way that she thought was inconspicuous but her black van with its black-out windows and reflective license plate was anything but.  The coffee shop owners only let her get away with it because she provided them with free virus proof Wi-Fi.  Really anyone within forty feet of her van could get free Wi-Fi.  Bucky peered at the van’s side door suspiciously, how had no one figured this girl out yet?  He could hear a feminine voice singing very loudly and very off-key inside and decides to interrupt the solo with a couple of hard knocks on the side of the sliding door.  Someone swears and he can hear a few things clatter around before the door is violently flung open and Skye’s head pops out in a flurry of brunette locks.

For a moment she looks completely pissed but upon registering who Bucky was her face broke out in wide victorious grin, “Does this mean I’m a part of the Guild now?”

Bucky sighs, “There is no Guild.”

Skye nods contemplatively, “Riiiight.  First rule of fight club is not to talk about fight club.  Gotcha.”  She punctuates with an exaggerated wink.

Bucky forces a shroud of blankness over himself because otherwise he might’ve turned around had headed back to the office to pour a pot of cold coffee over Clint’s head.  Skye and Clint have yet to meet but that didn’t stop Bucky from blaming him for this ridiculous bullshit.

“Ew, stop looking like that it’s creepy.  Are you trying to intimidate me because I gotta say that’s not nearly effective as it used to be.  I watched you order a caramel mocha frappe with extra whipped cream and chocolate chips on top you’ve ruined your image for me.”

“ _Skye_.”

She rolls her eyes and forces the door open further, “Yeah, yeah, come into my humble abode.”

Bucky finds the van to be exactly as spacious as he thought it would be, ergo not at all.  Skye seemed to sleep in the front seat if the pillows and single quilt blanket was any indication.  A little while after they’d met Bucky had offered to put her up somewhere, she’d flat out refused.  Skye had said she didn’t have much but what she did was hers alone and she didn’t owe anyone shit so she wasn’t going to start because “tall dark and deadly” is having a crisis of conscience.  He hadn’t been but he did shoot the girl’s boss in front of her inadvertently, so there was that.  Bucky thought she was way too cool with everything than was strictly normal but he was also aware she’d been through more than most people.  Plus she was pretty much a native New Yorker at this point and New Yorkers weren’t impressed by shit.

Bucky hunches down inside the van while Skye taps furiously away on the multiple computers she has setup, “I’ve been keeping tabs on the hinky crap S.H.I.E.L.D. has been up since the aliens rained down on the city then I upped my game after what went down in Sokovia.  They’ve been working _very_ hard to keep the public in the dark about the dangers out there.  Like they get to decide what people should know.”  She shakes her head angrily.

“Did you get the information I asked for?”  Bucky asks while failing to stretch his legs out.

Skye hums in the affirmative then stops tapping to pull out a small flash drive from the side of one of the monitors and tosses it to him, “Cliffnotes version, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been doing some pretty contradictory stuff lately that no one seems to be noticing.  I haven’t cracked their highest security codes yet but that’s just a matter of time.  Meanwhile, people talk.  Those people have cellphones and I can get into those in the middle of a Colin Firth covered in whipped cream dream.” She stopped, realizing what she just let out of her mouth.  Skye laughed nervously then powered through, “ _Anyway_ , everything I got is on the drive.  Be careful with this one Barnes, it looks sticky.”

Coolly, Bucky hands her a roll of bills for her trouble, technically he can’t afford to pay her that much and she’ll freak out and call him later when she gets around to counting it but Skye was a good kid, skilled, she could put it to better use than him anyway.  He crawls out of the van with has much dignity as he can muster, feet on the ground he turns and smirks, “You know, I think I’ve had that same dream by the way.  Whipped cream and all.”  Then he saunters away with the drive burning a hole in his jacket leaving Skye behind blushing up a storm.

Clint is gone when Bucky returns to the office.  He left a note because Clint couldn’t send a text like a normal person that read “Got word on Crossbones” then in smaller scratchy script under it “there were NO bagels”.  Clint also has listed what time he left, procedure, and what coordinates he was heading to.  Not for Bucky to follow, just for him to know.  Bucky reconnects Natasha’s feed to their flat screens then goes to the tiny office kitchenette and reaches behind a box of plain wheat thins nobody was willing to eat and pulls out a full bag of blueberry bagels from their favorite bagel guy down the street that he hid as soon as Natasha laid eyes on them.  He takes the whole bag to the couch and watches Natasha glean tons of information off Tony Stark with him being so oblivious about it was kind of painful to watch.  All was going smoothly until Natasha spun around and was faced with a curious Wanda Maximoff who was looking at her with suspicion.  Wanda Maximoff who, among other things, was listed as a telepath.  Wanda Maximoff who Natasha said was supposed to be out with her brother that day because she would have never walked into the same room with someone who was a goddamned mind reader.

Alone in the office, mouth full of bagel, Bucky Barnes says, “ _Shit_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Again thank y’all for the comments and interest in the story. This chapter has a little cameo by one Matt Murdock but he’s not tagged because he’s not even mentioned by name and it’s like Stan Lee in a Marvel movie quick , so yup.

 

 

Here’s a not so fun fact about Red Room operatives: they were all trained to withstand incredible amounts of mental, often painful, probing from the enemy.  Whoever the enemy was that week.  But magic, and monsters, and aliens?  They were never trained for that.  Those techniques might not always stand up to what the new age of miracles had in store for them.  They would always fall back on them anyway of course, easy as breathing. Every operative’s personal ways of putting those protective walls up were different.  For Bucky it was a series of numbers, seemingly random to anyone but him, 32557.  With the help of Natasha and a single file about the Winter Soldier he knew the significance of those numbers though nothing else beyond his name and what was done to him.  Natasha however had more than one depending on the situation, Black Widow would always be more than a one trick pony.  The one she chose to employ when faced with a young and very powerful telepath happened to be imagining with the focus of a Buddhist monk very graphic BDSM scenarios featuring everyone in the room while wearing the face of a bored but attentive school teacher.

 To Wanda’s credit, the girl didn’t go red as tomato until Natasha got to the part with sex swing.  Wanda’s eyes grew wide and she stuttered something too quick to understand in Sokovian then awkwardly ran out of the room.  Okay, Natasha felt a little bit bad for that.  Bucky on the other hand who was still watching from the sofa at their office was laughing his ass off because while no comms were on Natasha and he couldn’t hear or read Natasha’s mind himself he knew exactly what just happened.  He took a screen shot of Wanda’s face to show Clint later because he’s an asshole.

Natasha turns her attention back to a very confused Tony Stark he shakes his head, “ _Okay_ then.  Don’t worry about her, she’s a little weird but she’s a good kid.”

Natasha grins predatorily, “I don’t doubt it.”

Behind Tony the Falcon can be seen landing outside the platform there.  Natasha idly wonders how a place made of so much glass could be secure.  The Falcon folds in his wings into his pack and waves at them friendly as can be when walks by continuing on to destinations unknown.  If anyone had bothered to ask Jarvis the A.I. would have told them it was to the kitchens.  Mr. Wilson was usually quite the “chill” man but he had bad days just like everybody else and on those days cookies were baked.  Many, many cookies.

“Full house you have here.”  Natasha says blandly.

Tony’s face shows he’s impressed with her inability to be impressed, “I never wanted to be a mother, and yet.” He shrugs, not looking particularly regretful.

“Well, two more documents to go.  Don’t want you missing soccer practice, Mr. Stark.”  From the lab to the main living room area they were now in Natasha had managed to place half a dozen undetectable (by regular spook standards but Natasha didn’t have a lot of confidence in their life expectancy) bugs, it was time to make her presence scarce especially with the Scarlet Witch still presumably in the building.  Natasha didn’t want another run in with her that day.

“You know I’m having a hard time getting a read on you.”  Tony says like it’s a wonder.  

Natasha holds out another small packet of papers for him, already flipped to where he needs to sign and he does so wordlessly without even reading the text.

Natasha doesn’t respond to his comment and instead says when he’s finally done, “Have a pleasant day, Mr.  Stark.”

“Mr. Stark was my father.  Call me Tony.”

Natasha smiles and walks away as she calls, “Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

The Avengers Tower was bugged, now Natasha had to return to her tiny Stark Industries office where the real work was going to begin.

Combing through financials and boring day to day correspondence was not Clint Barton’s definition of “work” or a good time.  He would take chasing down whispers of Crossbones over what Natasha did any day of the freaking week, and maybe “whispers” weren’t quiet the right word.  Rumlow didn’t sneak around like a proper assassin should.  The man was too much a soldier for all that.  On the clock he was as professional as you please but off the clock was off the clock and Rumlow liked bars as much as he liked killing people.  Rumlow might have been brash and loud but he was a tough son of a bitch and Clint knew he was going to have to keep his distance.  There was a very good chance Crossbones was a match for Hawkeye and Clint was all too aware of that.

Clint had Rumlow in his bow’s sights from across the bar Rumlow deemed worthy to grace his presence with.  A rough looking joint in Hell’s Kitchen called Josie’s.  He could see Rumlow’s stark profile and jet black hair through the neon lit windows of the bar, for a guy who monumentally screwed up a hit he seemed pretty pleased with himself but that was probably just Rumlow’s naturally smirky face.  Clint wanted to punch him in the face so freaking bad.  A girl twenty years Rumlow’s junior sidles up next to him taking a bar stool and that feeling in Clint is increased by approximately a thousand.

Before Rumlow can slide and arm over the girl’s shoulders a blind guy hits Rumlow’s leg hard with a cane while walking past.  Bucky and Nat were never going to believe him.  The blind guy, in a suit of all things, looks very apologetic and Clint’s a little worried Rumlow is really gonna hit the guy but even Rumlow can see he’s getting too much attention so he brushes it off.  He pays for his drink and stalks out of the bar like he’s been gravely offended.  Blind Guy’s demeanor totally changes after Rumlow leaves the bar, he smiles at the girl and sits down at the counter himself, well, two for you Blind Guy.  Apparently even a blind guy can see Brock Rumlow was trouble.  Nobody can see the dorky grin on Clint’s face at his own shitty joke, but it’s there.

Clint trails Rumlow away from the bar to where he has his own car parked by a meter on the street.  Clint shakes his head, nobody had a car in New York, definitely not Clint.  There was no way to discretely hail a cab to follow Rumlow so Clint had to get his ass up on the nearest building to get a bird’s eye view (Clint grinned at himself again) of Rumlow’s black Challenger blatantly ignoring traffic laws.  The car squeals around corners never braking once.  Clint’s running full speed using short cuts being so high up afforded him.  By the time Rumlow stops breathing is hard and sharp for Clint, he’s still able to control it well enough that each gasp of air is nearly silent.

Rumlow pulls into a cheap by-the-hour motel close to the docks.  His doesn’t stick out as much anyone might think.  All types went in and out of joints just like that one all over the city. Rumlow wasn’t there for friendly company however, this was where he was laying low for the duration of his stay in NYC.  He didn’t get anything out of his car and had the key already in his pocket, Clint could tell he’d been there a while.  Clint reaches behind him and pulls out an arrow with a tracker attached to the end of it.  He slips easily to the ground in a maneuver Natasha would be proud of, notches the arrow, leans back, and releases.  The arrow cuts through the air in curved arc, the shaft hits the ground under Rumlow’s car and the arrow bounces up then the end attaches itself as soon as it hits something solid.  The arrow is safely hidden away and Clint blinks.  Of course no one was around when that trick actually worked.  Bucky was never going to believe him.

Bucky doesn’t.

“Pics or didn’t happen.”  Bucky calls to Clint from behind the office desktop.  He’s sorting through the mammoth amount of information stored on Skye’s one little flash drive, the girl saved it in a pyramid structure with the vague but still possibly useful information at the bottom and anything involving the big hats at the top. Plenty of names stick out at him.  Nicky Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. legendary badass of the spy world, he had a reputation before S.H.I.E.L.D. even officially existed.  Unfortunately Skye wasn’t able to get anything on him.  Too high level. 

There is a small bit of information about a ship called the Lemurian Star, some type of hostage situation that was resolved before any governments could get involved by a “Strike Team”.  It caught Bucky’s eye because the leader of the supposed pirates that hijacked the ship wasn’t a pirate at all.  Bucky knew him.  His names was Georges Batroc and he didn’t just hit any mark, he had a strict system of payment up front.  Bucky kind of liked the guy, helluva of a fighter hand to hand, he had to have been hired.  Batroc was off the grid now though, probably in some dark hole courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.  The details of the rescue were beyond Skye’s skills but Bucky can assume some things about the mission from what the little he does have. 

Information about more global scale events are easier to come by, not because S.H.I.E.L.D. is any less secretive about those events but because Skye gleaned most of what she knew from the civilians who witnessed it.  People are a lot harder to control than reports.  Bucky finds out who and what a “Loki” is and some things about the black hole opening up in the middle of their city became a little bit clearer.  Bucky reads what Captain America (and oh does he have to stamp down on the irrational anger he feels when he reads Steve thought it was a good idea take on a mythological being all on his patriotic lonesome, because, _really_ ) and the other Avengers did to stop him the first time only for the trickster god to escape from their grasp at the last minute.  How that happened remained unexplained, even for S.H.I.E.L.D. that was fucking shady.  So many things were fucking shady, it made Bucky’s head hurt.

Clint appears behind Bucky to gently grab him by the back of his shirt and pull him further away from the computer screen he’d basically had his face plastered against because no way was that healthy for his eyes super soldier or not, Bucky lets him but doesn’t look away from his work or lose the scowling scrunched-up expression on his face.  Clint sighs and looks for his own laptop in the mess that the entire office was becoming: tech everywhere, empty coffee cups everywhere, a general sense of unease since they “took” this job permeating everything which just doesn’t sit well with him.  Sure, each of them had their own places but the office was their safe haven, where they could be themselves around people who understood what that really meant: a little murder, a little mayhem, a whole lot of Adventure Time marathons, and a deep appreciation for free food.  They were just like everybody else really.

Bucky takes time out of his brooding, okay, information “sifting”, to help Clint activate the tracker on Rumlow’s car so that they could see where the merc went on a digital map Clint had on his laptop just for tracking purposes.  Gone were the days they had access to military satellites.  Bucky was the only one to really lament that, him being the guy who had to deal with logistics more than his comrades.  The tracker isn’t the best in the business, honestly most of their money went to weapons and comms, even so Bucky has is up and running before Natasha comes through the door barefoot with her heels in hand.  She sets the shoes gently down by an extra pair of scuffed combat boots Bucky kept there at all times.  He could be a bit of a boys scout whether or not he realized it.

Clint raises his brows at her, “Bad day at the office, dear?”

Natasha groans and starts taking the pins out of her hair, “Stark Industries takes a lot of work from S.H.I.E.L.D., I got some bank account numbers traced after I was in a secure location.”

Bucky’s head popped up from behind the laptop screen right next to Clint, “You went to see the Banker?”

“He’s not a banker, he’s a money launderer.  And a creep.”  Clint says, real agitation coloring his voice.  Natasha had already kicked the guy’s ass once.  Problem was, he’d _liked_ it.  Creep.  “Just cuz you two worked with him back in the day when the Red Army was more than a hockey team—”

“Barton.”  Bucky warns, he has that look on his face.  It would be more effective on someone who hadn’t seen Bucky fit five full-sized donuts in his mouth for a dare.

“My bad.  I just don’t like him.”

Natasha smiles, “Noted.  You can’t knock his results though.”  She dumps a pile of papers on Clint’s lap.  Bucky scoots away, the laws of the office held true no matter what: you touched it last you have to deal with it.  “Those are all S.H.I.E.L.D.’s transactions over fifty thousand dollars in the past two years.”

“Holy shit.”  Clint murmurs flipping through the papers, “This is a lot of money.”

“Yup.” Natasha agrees popping the “p”, “and there are only a handful of people at S.H.I.E.L.D. with the pull to approve really high amounts changing hands.”  No matter what most mysteries could be solved by following the money and Natasha was pretty damned good at that because, hello, used to be a _spy_.

“Then you think Stark Industries is clean?”  Bucky asks peering at the papers Clint’s flipping through still without actually touching them.

“Clean as a multi-billion dollar business can get, Potts keeps things pretty on the level.  I’m more concerned with a payout given to a group of skilled employees six months ago; take a look at the name of the top guy on the roster.”

Clint and Bucky read through the dates, quickly landing on what Natasha’s talking about, “Four hundred grand to…Brock fucking Rumlow.  Strike Team?  Rumlow is in it for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”  Clint wonders out loud.

“Rumlow is only ever in it for Rumlow.  Let me see that.”  Bucky snatches the paper from Clint and finds the exact date.  Rumlow and his Strike Team were paid their individual ridiculous amounts a day after the Lemurian Star rescue.

Natasha tilts her head a bit, listening through a device that looks similar to one of Clint’s hearing aids.  The bugs she placed wouldn’t last long, not with that A.I. and Stark’s paranoid ass, however the Tower is an apparently very busy place and it doesn’t take long for Natasha to get some vital information which she immediately tells Bucky adding to his mental equations.

The facts, as the man said, are these:  Rumlow lead a team for S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D. did not out source, so as far as any one was concerned Rumlow the merc was also Rumlow the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent though he was probably only acquired as an asset relatively recently.  Rumlow was also hired to kill Steve Rogers alongside the terrible trio.  Steve Rogers and the Avengers worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. but he left them shortly after whatever went down on the Lemurian Star, he was very diplomatic and public about it too.  S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted Steve Rogers dead and thanks to Natasha’s bugs, they knew Steve Rogers also knew that except Rogers thought _they_ were S.H.I.E.L.D. and yet he was holding conversations with the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself, Nick Fury.  Their conversation reveals only that Fury knows his organization is compromised but at the moment is choosing to play the fool.  Steve was privy to information that made him a threat, information that was gained from the Lemurian Star.

 Before anything else was said Natasha heard a loud curse from the bug’s audio and then nothing but white noise.  She snaps the ear piece easily in half with a frown.  They found her bugs a lot sooner than she hoped, with them went her cover too.  If they were talking in the Tower so openly then they had both felt it safe there and trusted all the Avengers.  How _nice_ for them, the thought of such a huge circle of trust literally made Natasha want to sit them all down to explain that the world was full of wolves.  She was one of those wolves and two of the Avengers were just kids, most of them _acted_ like kids, and suddenly Steve Rogers seemed much more important in the Avenger’s dynamic.  His death would leave them open, vulnerable to attack.   Considering Roger’s penchant for jumping before looking, Natasha pitied his teammates.

The three considered all the information before them.  It seemed like a mountain, they never had to climb this high not since the day they came together for safe harbor, it kinda felt like back then too.  Especially to Clint, who at the time was supposed to be the guy behind the trigger on kill orders for a pair of deadly Russians cutting a swath of blood across Europe and the Middle East.  When he found them he found two “young” people angry at the world, unstable, and scared.  He made a different call just like they were doing now and of course that meant trouble would follow.  Clint stretched dramatically loud and remembered the first thing he asked his new super assassin friends back then when they had a minute to breathe.  He asks them the same thing now.

“So…you guys want a pizza or something? Evil shadow organizations and threats of death make me hungry.”

Natasha actually snorted.  Bucky groaned thickly, “God, yes.”

“Easy Buck, your Brooklyn’s showing.”  Clint teased already thinking about what to order that would make them all happy.

“My Brooklyn’s gonna be up your ass if you don’t get on the damned phone, Barton.”

Natasha waggled her eyebrows at them, “Kinky.”

“Don’t start.”  Bucky says with all the energy he can muster, which wasn’t much really.  Still he smiled at them, Clint had a way of breaking tension that he would be forever grateful for.  Had it just been him and Tasha they would have just kept circling the drain ready for the taste of blood in their mouths.

Clint shuffled with socked feet to the kitchenette where his mobile was charging on over-crowded counter.  He doesn’t get the chance to open his contact list before his laptop makes an high-pitched annoying noise, Clint sighs again, deeply and with feeling, “Is that…?”

“Rumlow’s on the move.”  Bucky confirms with a face that was almost apologetic.

“What an asshole.”  Clint says more to himself.  He starts gearing up only to stop when he see’s Bucky doing the same.  “Oh, no you don’t.  We had an agreement.”

“You could use the back-up.”  Bucky states bluntly.

“Bro, I’m starting to feel like you don’t appreciate my abilities.  Also, we don’t know what he’s doing could be something Captain America related in which case you’re benched.  We agreed.”

Bucky’s face goes scary-blank, “Fine.”

“You promise?”

Bucky slumps in on himself, “I swear on Tolstoy.”  Natasha side-eyes him but Bucky doesn’t say another word as Clint hitches his bow to his back.  Natasha transitions Rumlow’s position on a duplicate city map on Clint’s phone and then he crawls out the window onto the frequently used fire escape (only twice because of actual fires).

“Five minutes?”  Bucky eventually asks her.

“Should do it.  If this is Rogers related—”  Natasha is only letting him go because she gets the feeling Clint will in fact need the back up.

“I’ll be careful.”

“Oh, solnyshka, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

 

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solnyshka—Russian endearment for sunshine, or little sun.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Chapter 7

 

Bucky’s existence had always been a series of points, bullet holes in the fabric of his life, with straight lines leading one to the other.  The first point was less of a bullet hole and more of a shot-gun blast.  Natasha had been the one to pull the trigger.  She escaped the Red Room using nothing but her own sheer force of will and she had been crazy enough to drag the Winter Soldier with her.  The man that helped train her to kill so well and she’d wanted to save him but no one could save anyone in their world.  You had to do that shit yourself, yeah, people helped but at the end of it all you had to be the one to resist the darkness and pull your own ass out of the muck of it.

His choice to not dig further into the man he used to be beyond a name and a serial number along with a few dodgy military reports was a way he resisted the darkness.  Having who he used to be hanging over his head would have only made things worse when he emerged from the fugue state his captors had him in.  Who he used to be didn’t matter anymore to him, maybe it never did, who he was now was what was important and he was his own master.  Captain of his soul and all that shit.  Obviously seeing Steve Rogers face to face, since the confrontation forced a long-buried doubt creep up in his mind, made Bucky want to crush something to death.  He’d made his choice, he was happy with his life, he had people he loved and who loved him back.  Bucky didn’t want the past or Steve Rogers fucking with his head so when he tells Natasha he’ll be careful he meant it.  As well as he can anyway.  He doubted Rogers would make an appearance after all he thought Bucky was the one to take a shot at him not Rumlow and either way Rogers wouldn’t have anything but rumor to go on.  If they weren’t already neck deep in bullshit he would have suggested they start running again.  He didn’t mind life on the road really.  They couldn’t now though, their “employer” knew who they were and Bucky was again under the thumb of a faceless power and that was not going to fucking stand.

He was more worried about Clint than Rogers or the contractor.  Not because Clint couldn’t take care of himself, the man had done just that years before Natasha and Bucky came along, but because Bucky’s survival instincts were going crazy and it wasn’t Rumlow causing that.  Bucky could feel larger forces working against them.  He didn’t need proof to know what being watched felt like and one thing he was certain of: it wasn’t the Avengers.  So there was no damned way he was going to let Clint go off alone while Bucky felt like they were ants under a magnifying glass.  Besides who knew what kind of bullshit Rumlow was up to.

Well when Bucky and a bit ahead of him Clint caught up to him, Bullshit, was exactly what Rumlow looked to be up to.  Appearances, however, were _always_ deceiving.  To the inexperienced observer Rumlow just looked like he was running normal type errands, completely normal if it weren’t for the time he was doing them, very few souls were even out.  Clint became aware of Bucky trailing him about fifteen minutes into it and made a gesture Bucky could see that he didn’t need to know ASL to understand the meaning of.  Clint would probably make sure Bucky would be taking his side the next time Clint and Natasha had an apartment-sized civil war which would be revenge enough.  For now Clint worked with Bucky rather than get angry.  He motioned for Bucky to take a position opposite him like they usually did to get a better view of Rumlow’s activities.  Activates that were so far staying terribly mundane.  It was the mundaneness of it all that made them both suspicious as fuck. Again, appearances were deceiving and they knew what to look for.  Rumlow was never in one place longer than a minute.  He sulked around in a manner that really didn’t suit him until finally it seemed he found what he was looking for and the archer and the metal-armed assassin followed him to the warehouse district along the Hudson.

Clint notches a grappling arrow and silently climbs up the metal siding of the warehouse leaving Bucky to cover the ground.  Bucky can hear voices coming from inside the building, they’re not hushed or worried about being interrupted.  Rumlow never was one for working alone.  A team made sense and a team made problems. Dim light poured out between the cracks but the narrow gaps weren’t wide enough for Bucky to see through, instead of risking discovery he retreated into the shadows and let Clint be his eyes up top through a busted skylight.  Bucky prowled around the warehouse’s perimeter to ensure whatever surprises were inside would be the _only_ surprises.  He keeps a certain distance from the building so he can still see Clint who flashes the number eight to him with his fingers, counting off the goons inside.  Clint’s gaze settles on something in the distance behind Bucky, Clint rolls his eyes and spells out what Bucky should expect.  Bucky mentally prepares himself because if _he’s_ coming then their recon mission was about to get very loud, but it also confirms Rumlow and his team were up to something more than just a hit on Captain America.

“You know, I’m saying this in a total ‘bro way’, those pants make your ass look great.”

Bucky successfully doesn’t flinch, “ _Fuck_ , Wade.”

Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, aka how can so many devastatingly dangerous people live in one city this is why property damage claims were sky high, slipped down from seemingly thin air in all his red and black suited glory with his katanas attached to his back bared like fangs, “If your offering, not in the bro way.  I’m currently unattached and you’re currently still really attractive, like _Jesus_ , it’s ridiculous, how do you make your hair do tha—”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Wade?”  Bucky asks drily all too aware of the volume of his voice.

Wade takes the hint and conspiratorially whispers back, “To kill bad guys.”  He notices Clint on the roof and gives him a jaunty wave, the white eyes of his mask widen comically which was, yeah, fucking physically impossible and weird.  Wade was a whole lot of both, Bucky had learned to just roll with it.  Clint begrudgingly waves back.

Bucky squares his shoulders and knows how menacing a figure he cuts in the dark, “These are _our_ bad guys.”

Wade isn’t fazed and asks like either were entirely in the realm of possibility, “In the ‘we wanna kill them first’ way or the ‘we get together on Tuesday to play shuffleboard’ way?”

“Neither.”  Bucky was a sniper.  His patience was legendary, he had to remind himself of that as he explained, “This is need to know, Wade.  You know we wouldn’t ask you to back down unless it was important.”

“ _Yeaaaahh_ , see that’s kinda a problem.”

Not really expecting a fight but always ready for one Bucky asks, “And why’s that?”

“Because I rigged some explosives in there, like half an hour ago?  Give or take, aaaand I pressed the button four minutes ago. It’s going up in one more minute.  Probably.  I mean birdboy should be safe but I don’t know if ya wanna risk it…”

Bucky swears and waves Clint down looking a little panicky because really, what kind of person doesn’t lead with that information?  Wade shrugs like Bucky said the thought out loud then adds in an apologetic tone, “Maybe a little less than a minute.”  The panic on Bucky’s face gets a touch more panicky.

Clint slides away from the open skylight quickly and shoots another grappling arrow at a utility pole.  The arrow latches on to old wood and Clint pulls the line taught before sprinting off the roof.  His foot barely leaves the metal sheeting before he feels it rumble beneath him and flames bellow out of the skylight opening.  Clint can feel the heat but he’s already swinging to safety as Bucky and Wade ran alongside the building to meet him.  There’s another loud boom from inside the warehouse that causes the walls to shake so at least whatever charges Wade set were relatively small.  The sound would draw attention soon enough though and they still needed to get in there because Clint spied something definitely of interest from his perch.

“I don’t really know what’s going on right now,” Clint says not really perturbed by the familiar notion, “but I think they had the Spear of Destiny in there.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “Like in Indiana Jones?”

“Like in Indiana Jones.”  Clint nods.

Wade appears between them, “I always wanted to be Indiana!  I cosplayed him at Comic Con once, but everyone kept asking if I was supposed to be Freddy Kruger.  Obviously Freddy doesn’t have a whip.”

Clint blinks, “Bro, I don’t think that’s why people thought—”

His thought was cut off by the big aluminum door on the side of the warehouse being kicked clean off its hinges right at them.  The door missed them by a mile but the figure in the doorway would not.  Smoke poured out around Rumlow who was looking decidedly _singed._

“You!”  Rumlow roared, the three looked at each other not sure which “you” the angry merc was referring to, “I’m going to—”  This time it was Rumlow who was cut short by a bullet to the chest via Bucky Barnes’ trusty sidearm.  Unfortunately, or fortunately considering they needed information from the bastard, Rumlow wore body armor however he did wheeze and drop to one knee from the brutal impact.  Behind him appeared three more hulking shapes also wheezing but that was probably from the smoke inhalation looking no less pissed off.  The Spear of Destiny is nowhere in sight.

“Wade,” Clint warns, “we need Rumlow alive.”

Wade reaches behind him unsheathing his katanas and twirls them a bit, “Hawkeye, you are absolutely no fun.”

Bucky stands a little in front of Clint to allow the archer to get some distance so he can have that split second he needs to take his shots, he tosses a sharp grin toward Wade over his shoulder, “I mean, he doesn’t _need_ his legs.”

Wade gasps, “My sun and stars!” and nearly gets away with a hug if it weren’t for the literal gang of gun-toting baddies coming to kill them.

Rumlow stumbles to his feet , roars, and charges them backed by his own deadly squad.  Bucky and Wade split, flanking them while Clint calmly chooses an arrow.  In four seconds the three prove there was a pecking order in the “deadly” class and Rumlow’s goons were so far beneath them Bucky was actually a little frustrated.  He shoots one point-blank in the head, Clint puts and arrow through his guy’s throat and Wade slashes in fancy upward arc that makes his enemy fall to the ground in messy pieces.  Rumlow is not taken down so easily, if there was one thing Bucky and Clint could say about the man other than how he was an asshole it was that he was a fucking _tank_.  Rumlow narrowly dodges Bucky’s metal fist and pivots on his feet scooping up a discarded gun from one of the bodies on the ground.  He empties the entire clip into Wade’s chest and grabs him to use as a shield blocking a stunning arrow Clint sent his way.  Wade shivers a little bit at the electric shocks, otherwise he’s not all that bothered about the bullet holes or the arrow sticking to his back.  Wade grabs Rumlow’s shoulders and bashes his head against Rumlow’s.  Rumlow, like a dog realizing what it had in its mouth was very very bad for it, recoils right into Bucky who grabs him by his Kevlar and throws him into warehouse wall, taking the whole wall down with him in a thunderous clash.

Bucky cringes, sometimes he found it hard to _not_ be lethal.  Clint glares at him and walks up behind Wade to yank the arrow out of his back.  Wade doesn’t flinch even goes so far and saying “Thanks, bud.” Like it wasn’t even Clint’s arrow.  Bucky shrugs.  Rumlow was most likely fine.  Was in fact sort of fine evidenced by him groaning and trying to stand up again.  Bucky wasn’t sure if they could get Rumlow to talk, breaking him seemed impossible.  What was possible was that Rumlow would die before he told them anything.  He wasn’t a particularly loyal man, he just wouldn’t want to give them the satisfaction.  Rumlow actually looks like he’s going to make it back to his feet until a bright green light erupts behind him like a flash grenade.  A ripple of invisible force throws them all back and all anyone can see for a minute is pulsing vibrant green.

Through the haze Bucky hears a posh voice gleefully say, “Ah, there you are.  I’ve been looking everywhere.”

The green clears and Bucky sees the golden horns first.  The rest is similar to what Bucky saw on Skye’s flash drive.  Leather fetish, gold metal accents that look heavy, all on a tall pale man holding a glowing staff looking like he was about to cry about it.  Loki.  Bucky hauls Clint to his feet and Wade follows suit.  Rumlow is still in a crouching position eyes wide in what Bucky would call and “oh shit” expression.

Loki turns his discerning gaze on them individually starting at Bucky, “The Soldier.” He remarks in a scathing voice before turning to Wade squinting, “And the cannon fodder.”

Wade puts a hand over his chest faux hurt, “Ouch.”

Bucky doesn’t like the way the glowing spear Loki has draws all of their attention and he really doesn’t like the way Loki was looking at Clint.  Loki sounds pleased when he says, “But you, Clint Barton, you have _heart_.”

 

 

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU about mercs and hitmen and you thought I wasn’t going to include Wade freaking Wilson? What kind show do you think I’m running here? AND friendly reminder Bucky/Steve are still in endgame for this fic and they will be meeting again VERY soon! Thanks for reading guys!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual: thank you guys so much for reading and support!

 

Chapter 8

 

Clint blinks, that’s really all it takes, one blink and he’s being dragged forward by tendrils of neon green light into the unfortunate end of a very big spear.  He thinks this is it, stabbed in the chest by an elf reindeer hybrid wielding the Spear of Destiny and an all he can think is that Indiana Jones didn’t have to deal with this crap.  The Spear, however, didn’t plunge into his chest.  The blade stops over his heart and Clint can feel everything that made him _him_ get leached out of his body.  It felt like ice-cold razor wire wrapping around his limbs, his brain, his teeth.  This, this was much worse than a bloody death by the Hudson.  A will not his own crawled up his spine and sat on his brain like a venomous spider.  Clint could hear his thoughts but the voice that spoke them didn’t sound like him, he listened anyway.

What was an eternity for Clint was only a few seconds to Bucky.  Suddenly Loki released Clint and Clint drew on them just as Bucky and Wade were rushing forward.  The arrow head was a mere inch away from Bucky’s eye, all Clint had to do was loosen his grip and no amount of super-serum could save the Winter Soldier from a diamond tipped arrow through his head.  Bucky didn’t move a muscle, Loki on the other hand smiles so wide Bucky’s reminded of a snake.  A snake ready and oh so willing to devour them all.  Loki doesn’t strike, he places a hand on Clint’s shoulder and Clint lowers his bow slightly. Bucky want to cut Loki’s hand clean off, he could probably do it too but he doesn’t know what Loki did to Clint and stays rooted to where he stands.

 “Not yet Barton, we still need them,” Loki glances to Wade with a bored look, “Some less than others.”

Wade coughs into his hand loudly, “ _Dick_.”  The corner of Bucky’s mouth hitches up involuntarily.

Loki doesn’t shrug or roll his eyes but he does move his hands in a supplicant gesture that seemed to say _obviously_.  The supposed god snaps his fingers and he and Clint are gone in a flicker of light.  It had been a long time since Bucky had felt so fucking helpless.  All his quiet wrath was turned immediately on Rumlow who had tried to start scurrying away as soon as Loki vanished with Clint.  Bucky stalks toward Rumlow and catches him up by his throat using his metal arm lifting Rumlow a foot off the ground.

“You’re going to tell me every-fucking-thing.” Bucky growls.

“Um, he’s not going to be telling you anything if you pop his head off his body.”  Wade says noticing the purple shade Rumlow was turning.  For once Wade was the voice of reason, Wade looked like he realized that too and appeared to be having a mental battle with coming to terms with it.

Bucky lets go, aware that he could do just as Wade says with a twitch and even more aware that he really wants to.  Rumlow drops like a ton of bricks and gasps for air, which at least Bucky gets a tiny bit of satisfaction out of.  He keeps a foot on Rumlow’s back and presses down preventing the merc from going anywhere…or from breathing properly.

Bucky sighs, “Why the hell are you even here, Wade?”

Wade can’t really stop looking at Rumlow struggling beneath Bucky’s boot as he talks, “I was going to say before the, ya know _kaboom_ , that these bad guys were introduced to my regular bad guys but then killed my regular bad guys and took over their bad guy operations.  Which let me tell you bro after the aliens and shit was a whole lot of operations, anyway I thought to myself, self that was weird.  I agreed with myself so I started seeing what they were up to.  This place use to have a lot less goons in it before big, sad, and angry down there showed up.  I figured I’d nip this one in the ass but alas, it looks like we were the ones that got nipped.  I was going to question a guy or two too but I’m guessing you’re taking him with you?”

Bucky presses down a little bit harder, “You’d be guessing right.”

“Okay.  I’m cool with that.”

“Wasn’t really askin’.”

“Cool with that too.  Listen I know you’re upset and all but you should get going, the cops are coming.”  Wade says in the same way a normal person would remark on the weather.  Sure enough the faint sound of sirens that always seemed to be somewhere in the city were growing a lot closer than Bucky was strictly comfortable with yet Bucky was having some difficulty with moving from the place Clint disappeared from.

“Don’t worry we’ll find him.  He was my friend too.  Sort of.  It was a work in progress.  Anyway, get going, I’ll handle the fuzz.”  Bucky knew Clint did consider Wade a sort of friend too.  Bucky had never worked with the infamous Deadpool before, more like encounters like when people talk about aliens or wild animals that screamed bloody murder in the night, though Clint had and the archer was obviously…grudgingly fond.

Bucky forces his anger down into the coldest part of him and lets a little bit of gratefulness show for Wade, “You sure?”

“Yep, don’t worry I speak NYPD.”

Bucky reaches down and secures Rumlow’s arms behind his back using reinforced zip-ties he kept in his belt, in all honesty they were usually used to anchor bodies to something heavy when he had to dump one in the river.  He pulled the tie extremely tight and thought _if only_.  Rumlow remained mostly quiet, he sneered at everything but kept his mouth shut letting Bucky haul him to his feet and push him where the Soldier wanted him to go.  Wade ducks out of the building ahead of him to run out front where Bucky can hear cars squealing to a stop, men yelling, and the tell-tale clicks of guns cocking ready to fire.  Bucky leads Rumlow away as fast as he can stopping a building away to listen in and make sure for certain Wade wasn’t going to need an extraction.  He was also faintly curious what “I speak NYPD” meant.

Faintly Bucky can hear a voice in a thick New York accent exclaim, “Wait! Hold off I think that’s Spider-man!”

“Yep! It’s me! _Spider-Man_!”  Wade agrees in a tone hitched a little higher than his regular speaking voice.  He sounds like he’s used the line a few times before.

Bucky shakes his head mumbling to himself, “For fuck’s sake, Wade.” And roughly pushes Rumlow forward into a run.

 Bucky hotwires the first unattended car he sees on the side of a dimly lit street a block away and floors it back to Natasha.  Surprisingly Rumlow only tries to throw himself out of the car twice before Bucky knocks him unconscious by slamming his forehead into the dash.  There’s a nice crack left in the wake of the impact Bucky is especially proud of.  He stops in a gas station parking lot close to their building and sends a vague text to Natasha and waits.  The two minutes it takes for Natasha to meet him Bucky spends searching Rumlow for tracking devices and comms, anything that could lead them to his boss or his boss to them.  They were going to need uninterrupted alone time with Rumlow. 

There are no trackers on him but the same time Natasha slips into the backseat of the car without warning Bucky does find a S.H.I.E.L.D. ID card capable of getting them into all kinds of restricted areas.  Bucky looks Natasha in the eyes, “Barton’s been compromised.”

Raw emotion flickers over her face, she shuts it down inhumanly fast, “The usual place then?”

“That’s what I was thinking.  I’ll give you the details on the way.”  They both felt a coldness, Clint should be there with them, it was wrong.  The two share a marble expression resulting from them both brutally squashing anything they might be feeling about Clint.  Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanov weren’t going to get Clint back, the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow were.

The usual place was an abandoned utility room down in the crumbling southeast part of the subway.  Clint had never been there.  The room was accessed right off the train rails through a heavy metal door, the only thing in it was a single greenish light hanging exposed from the low ceiling and a steel chair bolted to the concrete floor.  It was a homemade, what the Red Room would call, “hotbox” without the fun recreational drug use connotations.   Put simply it was an interrogation room.  Sometimes jobs weren’t so easy, sometimes people went into hiding and had to be found, and just sometimes Bucky or Natasha needed to put the screws to the unfortunate asshole who decided to hold out on them.

They strapped Rumlow into the chair and locked the sliding bar over the door behind them.  Rumlow was coming-to already, a testament to the man’s endurance.  He was a tough son of a bitch even so when he blinks his eyes open and is faced with the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow in a dark room he doesn’t need it spelled out for him how well and truly fucked he is.  Rumlow was currently in one of those fabled “rock and a hard place” positions.  So he spits blood out his mouth, absently noting the Soldier managed to break one of his teeth, and _laughs_.  Natasha grins right back, Bucky lets her take the lead and circles them slowly from the shadows.  He stops just out of Rumlow’s vision and leans his back against the cool wall obscured by the darkness.  It’s a deliberate tactic.

“Tell us what we want to know and we’ll let you leave here alive.”  Natasha says.  She’s calm and radiant in her dank surroundings.

Rumlow scoffs, “The Black Widow doesn’t let people go.”

“Natasha Romanoff does.”

 

***

Clint is aware what he’s doing is wrong.  He’s aware of it in the same way people are aware the grass is green and the sky is blue.  Aware but not concerned or capable of changing it.  He knows he should be but Loki’s whispers feel like they live inside him, slithering under his skin.  Loki asks questions and Clint answers them all.  Stuff he swore to never tell another soul, about himself, and about Bucky and Natasha too.  There were reasons Clint had been sent after them back in the day, very good reasons to an objective observer.  Loki knew all of them now, for what purpose Clint didn’t ask.  Didn’t need to, wasn’t his place but absently knew everything was too personal for Loki to use on a grand scale.

Loki had them set up on and old cargo ship out on the bay whose crew had mysteriously vanished.  Clint was not alone in Loki’s company.  Loki had a small ragtag army that were from everywhere from S.H.I.E.L.D. to independent contractors to homegrown C.I.A. agents all working around each other in a tandem that really shouldn’t be possible for strangers.  Loki gave Clint the run of them.  The archer hadn’t had this many people under his command since, hell, ever.  He lead a fifteen man squad once in Beirut but that had been years ago and nowhere the size Loki was operating on.

“We are going to be holding a gun to the world, Barton,” Loki says to him vaguely before giving him a mission, “and we will be facing two armies.  Large as we are now I still need more.  You’re good at turning powerful enemies into friends, you shall need that skill.”  Loki hands Clint a list of names, no one super-powered but all connected to valuable resources.  Clint recognizes a few instantly.  His job was to recruit them while Loki did…something else that none of them were privy to.

“Sir, Barnes and Romanoff will be coming after us.  Soon.”  Clint warns.

Loki smiles, he does that quite a lot Clint notices, like it was a reflex, “I’m not worried.”

“With all due respect, sir, you should be.”

Loki considers Clint for a moment making Clint feel like he was being dissected, “Your friends have been accounted for, Barton.  It’s all a part of the plan.  Hurry along now.”  Loki waves him away in manner that was more than a little condescending. Not that Clint thought that.  Or would ever.  Loki gives Clint another odd look and Clint takes his dismissal to heart.  He grabs his bow along with the most skilled agents there and looks to the first name on his list.

  1.   Last seen in Sokovia, presumed dead.  Loki apparently thought otherwise.  Sokovia, just great.  Sokovia was going to be fucking cold this time of year, more cold anyway.  Clint expected a comment about being too weak for the Russian winter but it never came.  He couldn’t say how that made him feel.



 

***

 

Natasha knew exactly what she felt. Wrathful.  Cold.   She was struck by the similarity of her and Bucky interrogating a man in a dark room full of violence and vengeance from before they had Clint in their lives, he was gone and here they were again.  Old habits die hard she supposed.  Old habits and Brock Rumlow.  He was impressive, the man could take pain as well as Bucky could inflict it.  Bucky hurt while Natasha talked, it was like riding a bike.  A very gruesome morally ambiguous bike with no brakes going downhill fast but the bike _worked_ because at the end of the day Rumlow was still an misogynistic asshole and Natasha, Black Widow or not, was still woman.  He would always underestimate her.  Good for them, bad for Rumlow.

The only scrap Rumlow willingly gave after hours of persisting was, “I don’t know what the fuck Loki wants with Barton!  We were supposed to be keeping the alien tech safe.”

“Somebody like Loki after it,” Natasha mused, “that sounds like a suicide mission.  You must be awfully loyal to your boss.  Is the pay that good?”

Rumlow scowled.  He found staying silent much harder when Bucky sidled up next to him and bent one of Rumlow’s fingers back until it snapped.  Rumlow grunted in pain, he grit his teeth together so hard he heard them creak inside his head.

 Natasha stops Bucky before he casually reaches to break another finger, “Brock, you don’t want to die here.  You don’t want rats to live off your body in the sewer for months.  No employer is worth that.  Right now, you can recover, you might not be able to later if you keep holding out.  What’s the point?”  Softly she adds, “What are you afraid of?”

“You have no idea.”  Rumlow taunts, “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

“Do _you_?”  Natasha isn’t threatening though she makes it sound like she is.

“I know more about the two of you then either of you put together sweetheart.”  The merc says spitefully, “It’s fucking sad actually.  Nah, _pathetic._ You think you were running wild when they’ve had collars on you this whole time.  Just like the rest of the world, you all ain’t that special.”

“You sound a little jealous there, Crossbones, not your daddy’s favorite?  Shame,” she looks him up and down—bloody mess that he is, “you would be mine.”

Natasha catches Rumlow glancing reflexively to where Bucky stood in the shadows.  Rumlow growls, “Shut up, bitch.”

Natasha _tuts_ and “gently” bends Rumlow’s broken finger back down.  He does more than grunt this time.  She knows more than he thinks he’s given away.  She knows that while Rumlow is on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s payroll they are not who’s pulling the strings, but they are connected.  Loki was connected to those very same shot-callers but they aren’t friends though Natasha gets the impression they might have been allies before.  She knows Rumlow has access to their files (files that should have been long buried under ice and ash) so their employer and his boss were the same and that meant there wasn’t just a double contract put out.  They were being played with.  Specifically Bucky. 

“Give us a name and you walk out of here.  Take the offer while you still can… _walk_ , that is.”  Natasha taps one of his knee caps suggestively.

“You really expect me to believe you’re going to let me go?”

“Just a name.  And I promise we’ll let you go.  Then you can run if you want but you can’t run if you’re dead Brock.”  She tilts her head a little giving Bucky the signal to follow her.  They step out of the room, letting Rumlow stew in his thoughts.  Sound carries down there so they say nothing. It’s easier to do than they think without Clint there.

They wait another whole hour before going back in.  Rumlow is sagging in the chair, tired, not quite defeated.  He meets their gazes with a cold burning his eyes, a decision made.  The thing is: Natasha and Bucky were right about Rumlow.  He would carry someone’s flag if it had something in it for him, he would do that up to the point it stopped being beneficial for him.  That he lasted this long said volumes about his own toughness and the clear and present danger of his employers.  Even strong men came to their ends.

“A name and you let me go.”  Rumlow reiterated.  Bucky and Natasha give short nods.  “I want more than that.  You two help me disappear and then we have a deal.”

Natasha waits what she thinks is an appropriate amount of time, “Deal.”

Rumlow’s face is grim, “I don’t know shit about Loki taking birdboy, like I fucking said.  We were only keeping the scepter away from him.  We were working with them until we weren’t.  Boss wanted to keep the power of the scepter to himself, didn’t think he needed him anymore.  That’s all I know about that shitstorm.”

“You tried to fuck over the God of Fucking People Over?”  Bucky asks incredulously, “That didn’t seem like a bad idea to you?  Seriously?”

“Like I fucking knew who he was.”  Rumlow spat.

Natasha rolls her eyes and brings attention back to the real question, “Who is we?”

Rumlow drew a deep breath, “…Hydra.”

The effect is immediate.  Bucky’s eyes go round and he pales considerably, Natasha had trouble keeping the shock of her own face.  She could tell Rumlow was serious, he was just as fearful of that single word as Bucky.  Hydra made Bucky, owned him before they leant him out to the Soviets.  When their prized Soldier went missing, well, no one in “the know” were exactly surprised when the Cold War was kicked off not so long later.

“And your boss?”  Natasha was always so cool at this.  Bucky might have trained her but there were just some things the pupil exceeded the teacher on.  Proud was too callous a word for how he felt about that, more like appreciative of her abilities.  He’d like to see her try to punch through a concrete wall.  Bucky could almost hear Natasha jibe something at him about fragile masculine egos.

“We only ever got orders through a second party.  Someone through S.H.I.E.L.D.  That’s all I have now get me the fuck out of here.” Rumlow strains against the straps until a vein throbs in his neck.

“Thank you,” Natasha says tonelessly, “for your cooperation.”  Rumlow was no longer an asset to them.  Her face showed that as she reached behind her for the small pistol holstered there.

Rumlow spluttered, “You said, you said—”

“Natasha Romanov said she would let you go, Natasha Romanov lies.”  She pulls the triggers and a perfect hole forms in the middle of Rumlow’s head.  His entire body slumps.

Bucky, still pale, quips, “Natasha Romanov also talks about herself in third person.”

Natasha sighs lowering her gun, “James…I was having a moment.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stepped on it.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.  Do you have a lid on it?”  She meant a lot by “it”, all because of Hydra.

“Da, Natalia.  _Hydra’s_ in _S.H.I.E.L.D.”_ Bucky frowned.  His head hurt like he was supposed to already know that.  He remembers how adamant he was about keeping his friends away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and realizes sickly that maybe he did.  Hydra always burned away his memories but they could never touch his instincts.

“And Loki’s no friend to either of them, or the Avengers.”  Adds Natasha.

“What are you thinking?”

“War.”

“I was afraid of that.” Bucky looks to Rumlow’s corpse, “What do you want to do with _him_?”

Natasha grimaces knowing what kind of mess they would be coming back to, “Leave him.  We’ll take care of it later.  If we have a later.  Have you thought about our next move?”

“Well…I was thinking we kill Steve Rogers.”  Bucky says breezily the skeleton of a plan forming in his mind’s eye.

Natasha doesn’t miss a beat and follows Bucky out when he opens the door ignoring the loud squeal it made, “Because that turned out so well last time…Sure, I’m game.”

“Good.  I need my rifle…and Skye.”

 

tbc

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Chapter 9

 

 

 

Two master assassins dressed to kill (very literally) and an over-caffeinated computer hacker were stuffed into a van with blackout windows, Skye thought it was kind of funny like the beginning of a complicated joke except the assassins weren’t laughing and neither was she.  Natasha made her nervous through no fault of her own.  Where Bucky was obviously lethal Natasha looked like the type to smile at you before she broke your neck, right now she was politely sitting (squashed) next to Bucky with her hands folded curiously looking around at all the tech and Skye had never felt more endangered by another human being.  Incidentally other than being worried to death about Clint, Natasha was thinking chicken nachos sounded really good.  What?  Natasha and Bucky had really fast metabolisms, keeping fed and hydrated was more important than one might think.  More than being worried about Natasha but only by a hair Skye was freaking out about what exactly they were asking her to do.

“You guys realize if I do this I’m gonna have to cut ties and straight up get out of Dodge, right?  I mean this is Avengers Tower were talking about, best security on the planet.  They’re going to be able to trace me.”

“If only you and all you own were here in this van ready to leave at any time…oh, wait.”  Cracks Natasha dryly.  Bucky’s face is blank and he says nothing.

Skye leans back ignoring an exposed wire digging into the small of her back, “I’m starting to get the feeling I don’t have much choice in this.”

Natasha says “You don’t.” the same time Bucky assures, “You do.”  They glare at each other until Natasha flicks her eyes upward in an aborted eye roll.

Bucky huffs, “You have a choice, you do.  You want to walk away from this I promise no one will follow.  But I _am_ asking.  This won’t work without you.”

Skye scrubs her face and groans, “Damnit Barnes, stop it with the eyes and the face.”  She waves her hands around indicating both.  It wasn’t fair for a trained killer to be able to look like that.

“Fine.”  Skye settles feeling anything but, “Let’s send a death threat over Avengers Tower personal servers, why not, it’s been a slow day anyway.  You owe me big.”

“You can call one in any time, any place after this, kid.  If I’m alive.”

“Don’t say that…please.”  Skye had tons of acquaintances in her life.  Plenty over her own networks, but real friends were sadly lacking.  Bucky Barnes was one of those few friends in her book and really she already knew she was going to help when they asked the first time.  She just had to convince herself of the idea first.  The idea of her life without Bucky lurking around the edges wanting free coffee and calling her “kid” was a much harder concept to deal with.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, no talk like that on this bus.  Now,”  Skye turns around narrowly missing knocking over a stack of hard drives, “do we want this to be mildly threatening or ‘the Lannisters send their regards’ threatening?”

“Threatening enough to get Captain America to come out for a possible street brawl but not enough for him to call in the damned quinjets.”  Bucky decides.  For some reason he knew getting Steve Rogers into a street fight would be the easiest thing in the world.  It really fucking annoyed him.  In fact nearly everything he somehow “knew” about Rogers irritated the ever living fuck out of Bucky, behind it all was the reason but _that_ knowledge stayed just out of his reach.  Cool reality crashed into him when Bucky realized he’d been reaching in first place.  He never did that.  The past should stay buried yet he was trying to scratch the surface of something unconsciously.  Felt rather like his own mind was betraying him, and he’d had far too much of that sort of shit already.

“Bucky?”

Bucky blinks, Natasha and Skye are giving him odd looks, “Chto?”

“I _said_ : do you want me to send this now?  We’d have to scatter as soon as I hit send dude.”  Skye’s forefinger hovers over her keyboard dramatically ready to press the enter button.

The two assassins don’t even have to look at each other for affirmation, they came there prepared for war, though they were always prepared for war.  War was etched into their skin deeper than any tattoo could be, slipping into that mode was easy as breathing.  Sometimes for Bucky, it was _easier_ than breathing.

“Hit it.”  Bucky says.

Skye presses down and gets up as much as her van allows in one smooth motion.  She swings into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, then flips on the radio—upbeat and heavy on the guitar but Bucky doesn’t recognize the band.  Natasha does, she hums along while they swiftly climb out of the van.  They slide the van door shut behind them and before Skye can skid out of there Bucky tells her, “Keep safe, kid.”

“Yeah, you too.” Skye opens her mouth to say something else but decides against it, she settles on, “Later, Barnes.” And ducks her head back into the van.

“Later.”  The word was a promise Bucky wasn’t sure he could keep, hell if he wasn’t going to try though.

 

***

In Avengers Tower Tony Stark is taking a much needed coffee and “whatever is lying around that is edible” break when Jarvis announces an incoming message for Steve. Strange considering personal messages went to personal servers and Jarvis never got his wires crossed.  Tony’s interest is piqued.

Tony peers around, Steve’s nowhere in sight to give him a lecture about how opening other people’s mail was a federal offense and really no one was buying that crap Rogers they all already knew he was just a secretive little shit, “Source, Jarvis?”

“Unknown, sir, it seems to have appeared out of nowhere.  Shall I run a trace on _Captain Rogers’_ message?”

“I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

“I have no idea what you mean…sir.”

Of course Steve appears out of the woodwork the moment Jarvis said his name out loud, like a red, white, and blue Beetle Juice.  Tony watches the blonde stride in with a sour look and thinks it’s unfair anyone can look that put-together wearing workout clothes.  He wasn’t even sweating for God’s sake, and listen, Tony loved Pepper with his whole heart but he was human and he couldn’t help looking.  Okay?  Okay.

Steve shoots a glare toward Tony and asks, “You have something for me, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Captain, a message from an unknown party addressed to you personally.  Shall I send it to your mobile?”

“Is it safe?”  Steve inquires further but he already has his phone out.  Nothing much scared Steve Rogers, if anything at all, definitely not computer viruses.

“There are no security risks attached to it, Captain, however I would be wary of anyone who can bypass my initial systems in the first place.” 

To everyone in the Tower’s credit they had all become ten times as careful since the security breach, Tony had dubbed it “the Red Scare”.  The woman couldn’t be found and neither could the mysterious figure who took a shot a Steve, that the two were connected was a given.  At least for the shooter Tony had found _something_.  Stories about a deadly assassin with a metal arm since the height of the Soviet Union, ghost stories really, they hadn’t helped them out in the long run other than some sort of code name referenced.  The Winter Soldier, the name never came up with anything good.  According to every scrap of information Tony could dig up Steve came very close to dying that night.  Too close, every time Tony thought about it he got a little sick to his stomach.

“Understood, go ahead and send it Jarvis.”

Tony used to watch the old war reels of Captain America with his dad when he was small.  Roger’s face didn’t hide a thing on those black and white images.  The Steve Rogers from the here and now was a whole different story.  The man could shut down so fast, sometimes that made it hard to be his friend.  Tony and Steve _were_ friends despite the domestic disputes the Daily Bugle liked to think up (though they did have their moments).  Currently Steve was doing the same damned thing he always did when he didn’t want to lay his burdens on anyone else.  He stared at his phone hard then pocketed it and marched out of there with military precision.

“Steve!  Hey!”  Tony caught up to him at the elevators, “You gonna tell me what the hell that was about?”

“Nope.”  Steve presses the down button and he’s gone.

Tony does a decent job of keeping all indignant squeaks to a minimum.  Mostly he’s worried.  Steve doing the Steve equivalent of storming off without telling anyone why couldn’t lead anywhere good.  They were supposed to be a team, damnit.  It had taken Tony a long time to finally be comfortable with that idea.  Steve on the other hand always seemed like he was waiting for something else to happen. 

Well, asking for forgiveness was always better than asking for permission anyway.

“Jarvis?”

“Shall I open the copy I made, sir?”

Tony nods, “If its porn we saw nothing.”

“Understood, sir.”

The message was in the form of a simple e-mail (no porn attached either, Tony was kind of disappointed) and read as follows:

_Missed you last time.  I won’t be making that mistake again.  If you want to finish this let’s have a face to face, just me and you, same time and place.  Leave your friends at their clubhouse if you want them to live.  One time offer, Captain, you don’t show I come after you.  No matter where you are._

Tony scrubs his face and sighs, “Fuck.”

“Sir, I’ve traced the message from a local coffee establishment.  I’m afraid after it pinged off the equipment there the trail went abruptly cold.  I would speculate a mobile platform was used to initially send it.  Would you like me to attempt to track it?”

“Yes…Steve might be able to handle this on his own, maybe not.  Either way, assemble the Avengers.”

 

***

 

Hours after Skye sent their little greeting card to Rogers, Bucky and Natasha were at the rendezvous point aka the building across from Steve Rogers’ apartment.  They were silent as they waited—Natasha was hidden even from Bucky’s sight while he sat in the long shadows that cut across the rooftop more or less in full view.  It was cold.  Unusually cold for that time of year so much so every radio station in the city had mentioned the sudden plummet into the ice age.  For the city it was relief, for Bucky it caused his teeth to sit on edge.  Cold did not bother him, no, his body was used to cold.  However his body was also unnatural and thus he could sometimes sense when other unnatural things happened around him.  This was no normal temperature drop, it felt like the warmth and been leeched from the air like energy from a battery.   In this case the whole of New York was the battery and something surely wicked was on the way.

Wicked didn’t come in the form of Captain America but he arrived first.  Bucky spotted him on the street below recklessly weaving past cars on the road and skidding to a halt nearly right at the doors.  He was in almost full uniform sans the helmet and with the addition of a brown leather jacket.  As far as Bucky could see he was alone but Bucky doubted he would stay that way.  The Avengers were a tight group though Rogers was the type to be hot-headed enough to come try to give Bucky the ass-kicking he thought he deserved.  Bucky didn’t take it personally.  If he thought someone had tried to take a shot at him he would be aiming to make them regret that choice too.  Or so he kept telling himself.  Not personal.  Nothing they’d done since they’d went into the business had been personal now everything was if he was honest with himself.  The job, Clint, Steve fucking Rogers and his stupid fucking face, speaking of Rogers’ stupid fucking face…

“When you said face to face I assumed I would be seeing your face.  _Before_ I punched it in.”  Rogers slammed the rooftop exit door behind him so hard the door went flying down the stairwell that lead back down.

Bucky turned to face him fully.  They were different poles of the Earth forced into the restricted space of the rooftop.  Bucky mirrored Rogers’ stance and shrugged, his words rumbled with a Russian accent, “Oh, the mask.  Well, you have to protect the money-maker.”

“Sure,”  Rogers scoffed, “ _that’s_ what it’s for.  Why are you trying to kill me?”

“If I was trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”  Bucky retorts honestly and a smidge cocky.

Natasha’s voice crackles in Bucky’s ear, “ _Stop playing with your food, Soldier.”_

Steve…no, not Steve, Bucky corrects himself, looks confused.  Angry mostly but confused too.  Bucky had a P90 strapped to his back and his side arms holstered in plain sight, he made no move towards any of them and Rogers noticed.  Rogers grip on his shield was white-knuckle tight ready and yet unwilling to make the first move.

“The girl—”, Rogers starts.

“ _Girl_?” Natasha hisses so fiercely Bucky tilts his head away, that too Rogers catalogues.  He might come off as a straight-forward guy but he wasn’t stupid or unobservant.

“She with you?”

Bucky chuckles, “More like I’m with _her_.”

Nestled uncomfortably in her hiding spot, Natasha smiles.

“Alright, then what exactly do you want?”  Rogers demanded.  If his furrow went any deeper Bucky was worried for his eyesight.

“I want to keep some people alive.”  Bucky decides, “Including you if—”  Bucky hears the familiar sound of an arrow slicing through the air before he sees it.  He pulls his combat knife from his belt and cuts it out of the air before that arrow reached its target aka Captain America, “Nope.”

Bucky can see how from a distance the Winter Soldier holding a knife perceivably at Captain America could look.  Objectively he can see that.  That really didn’t justify the chaos that erupted around him, the Avengers were like sledgehammers when it came to threats.  Rogers saw what Bucky did, that arrow would have gone through his face.  Healing factors got a little iffy when it came to headshots and Rogers is just as surprised as Bucky when Iron Man swooshes in like a battering ram into Bucky’s side and takes him right off the fucking roof.  Bucky holds on gracefully shifting his weight onto Iron Man’s shoulders knocking the propulsion off-balance allowing himself to bring them both right into the pavement of the street below in a loud crash.  Natasha is yelling in Bucky’s ear and he can hear gun shots from the roof.

“ _I got a visual on Barton.”_ Natasha says, there was never any doubt.  The only other person who lived in the city with a penchant for arrows was currently taking a holiday of sorts on the west coast.

“You know, I usually make people take me to dinner first before I let them ride me,” Starks says shoving Bucky off and firing stunning shots meant for capture. 

Bucky can move faster than Stark can shoot,  surprise, surprise, decades worth of experience dodging bullets stills works no matter what the bullets are made of.  Stark grows frustrated, he abandons trying to shoot after The Winter Soldier fucking _pirouettes_ out of the way of his last blast and opts for the tried and true ramming technique that did so well earlier.  He flies forward, Bucky just stands there making himself an easy target until Stark was close enough to not be able to adjust course then Bucky drops down and sends a metal fist into the groin of the Iron Man suit.  The shocked cry Stark makes lets Bucky know he felt it.

Bucky wastes no time, he uppercuts Stark’s shelled head and Iron Man goes down.  Bucky jumps on top of him and rips the helmet’s front off like the top of a sardine can revealing Stark’s very disoriented face. He retrieves and cocks one of his side arms then presses it to Stark’s head in a knee-jerk reaction.  _Just like Peggy and Howard_.  Bucky hesitates, the names come out of nowhere, the faces that go with them are wisps of smoke.  His confusion distracts him but it was possible even the Winter Soldier couldn’t see Pietro Maximoff coming.  One second his finger is hovering over the trigger without any intention of actually pulling it and the next he’s laid out right next to Stark with a terrible ache in his side.  Pietro appears above him, smirking, and his sister is beside him.  Her hands contort and her eyes glow crimson, that very same shade Bucky can see tinting his own vision, tinting his own memory too.  The Scarlet Witch was taking a look under his hood and that probably wouldn’t end well for anybody.  He knew without a doubt one wrong move inside his head could start an avalanche of events, the worst would be Bucky reverting back to his programming and who he was now was a flower child compared to the weapon that had been under the Russian’s control.

Strangely, the Maximoff girl stops abruptly and the crimson slips away.  There is fear in her eyes but also a glassy shine, sadness burdened with compassion, understanding.  She turns to her brother, “Take him to the rooftop.”

Her twin looks confused and she explains, “Today, he is not our enemy.  Go.”  The word “today” was stressed.  The girl was compassionate but not stupid, good on her.  She likely read in Bucky’s mind what would happen if Clint died by the hands of an Avenger.

Pietro mutters in a thickly accented voice, “Hold your breath.”  Then he grabs Bucky with more strength than Bucky gave the kid credit for and whisked him away straight up the side of the building.  The speedster deposits Bucky on the rough rooftop easily meanwhile Bucky is trying to not make a show of gasping for air.  He had not held his breath.

Bucky wasn’t going to be given much time to catch it either.  Clint is going after Rogers, the Captain is parrying every hit but Clint is dauntless and not above using the 9mm Beretta he pulls from his belt in close range—his bow is lying useless on the ground a few feet away, it was not exactly close combat friendly.  Clint Barton could whine, complain, he could act stupid and be lazy.  The thing was he wasn’t stupid, there were reasons why he was sent after the world’s two most dangerous assassins and his idleness was directly correlated to how much he wanted you dead.  Clint Barton was a goddamned threat.  The faster Bucky gets between him and Rogers the better.

At the same time the Falcon is in the air shooting just off the side of the roof ,  Bucky had been wondering where the rest of the A-team were,  Clint is simultaneously dodging blows and bullets until Natasha swings down from thin air catching the Falcon’s head with her thighs, twists and brings him down to the roof as well.  The element of surprise did wonders against hard odds.  Bucky doesn’t let her work go to waste, he rushes forward to the surprised Falcon and steps on his wings, one Bucky tears off entirely and tosses aside as if it were made of paper.  Natasha then throws a widow’s bite onto Wilson’s neck and the man goes down hard.  Pietro is at his side in an instant checking vitals with a furious scowl.   It’s not like they killed the guy, he was just going to wake up extremely pissed off and feeling kind of hungover.  That was about as gentle as Natasha and Bucky could be.

“Take him out of the line of fire, and make sure the building is clear.”  Bucky orders the speedster.  His unspoken “don’t touch Barton” was loud and clear, Pietro hesitates only a second before zooming off with Wilson in tow.

In the distance Bucky spots War Machine flying in, just a spec now but gaining on them.  Natasha and Bucky glance at each other and then fling themselves in between Clint and Captain America.  Bucky takes Rogers in a flat-out nothing held back tackle.  Natasha gracefully ducks and skids below Clint catching his feet with her legs and tripping him, Clint topples forward and lands on his face.  The move earns Natasha enough ill will that Clint goes after her for it, for the moment forgetting about his apparent main target who was still under Bucky staring up at the Soldier like…something.  The Captain’s eyes are wide and intense staring into Bucky’s own like he’s in some great deal of pain.  Bucky _hates_ it, _hates it_ , his anger wells up inside him and without really realizing what he’s doing he’s put his metal fist into the roof right next to Rogers’ head.  Rogers’ face turns to surprise and a weirdly familiar pissy-ness encompasses his features as Bucky removes his fist slowly from the crater that could have been the Captain’s head.  The action turned both Clint and Natasha’s attention back toward them, Natasha uses the moment to grab a shovel from the little rooftop garden and hit Clint in the head with it.  A metal clang rings out and Bucky winces in sympathy, finally Clint drops, he rapidly blinks his eyes.

Clint rolls carefully to his back, looking up and Natasha he whispers a breathy, “Wow.”  He blinks again then squints, “Tasha?”

Natasha throws a widow’s bite attaching itself dead center to Clint’s forehead.   The shock is instantaneous, Clint convulses then his body relaxes.  Bucky gets up and fetches Clint’s discarded bow, he hands it off to Natasha to take care of.  She handles the weapon with considerable more care than she handled Clint.  War Machine finally reaches them but Rogers sends up an ok signal, over comms he tells everyone to stand down, at least for the moment.  Bucky rolls his eyes, he supposed he understood the sentiment though.  He was a very understanding guy lately.  One of their own did just try to kill him and Bucky and Natasha also took out two Avengers in the melee.  If they’d been trying to kill the Avengers it was all too obvious the damaged they could have done.   It hits Bucky that that was exactly the point.  Natasha had been right about a war and they’d just been manipulated into making a first strike. 

Loki had been behind Clint’s motives and Loki had failed what he obviously intended to do.  Take out the biggest weapon S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra had:  the Avengers.  Which was terrible and clever, but now that plan was shot and Bucky was waiting for the next shoe to drop.  Loki didn’t seem like the kind of guy that took failure well.  War Machine lands next to Rogers, he wisely keeps the little rocket-launder on his shoulder aimed at Bucky, Natasha, and Clint.  Iron Man reappears as well, minus a few parts from his suit, and Pietro gusts back onto the roof carrying his sister.

“How’s Wilson?” War Machine asks.

Natasha smirks, “Alive.”

“ _You_ ,” Stark points at Natasha, “I let you into my home!  Let you sup at my table!  Also whatever Wanda here saw in your head made her hide in her room for two whole days.”  He didn’t seem all that broken up about the betrayal bit, but that was probably just Stark’s way.

“They aren’t our only problem,” War Machine sighs and finally the front of his helmet slides up, his face is grave, “Nick was shot, he’s in surgery right now.  It doesn’t look good.”

Natasha sends Bucky an incredulous look, they’re just tossing that information around when their possible enemies are standing _right there._   It went against her super spy sensibilities.  After a moment of rather devastated silence Stark gestures to Bucky pointing out, “Well, we know he didn’t do it.”  

Pietro, apparently not a fan of Stark, quips back, “Yeah, he was here busy kicking your ass.”  Bucky firmly decided he liked the Maximoffs, he also absently notes the already frigid air turns impossibly cold. 

They can all see their breath as they talk and too slowly they notice something’s wrong.  Bucky whips around to Natasha and barks in Russian for her to get the hell out of there now.  Pietro either knows the language or Wanda senses something wrong because he follows Natasha’s example only he doesn’t have to put Wanda in a fireman’s carry or use a grappling gun to crash into a window of the neighboring building.  Quicksilver simply becomes a blue blur, thinking of his sister first.  The others are finally getting the message but without warning green light erupts around them so bright it’s blinding. 

Natasha’s voice exclaims in Bucky’s ear, “ _There’s a portal opening at the base of the building, Winter, its coming down, get out of there_!”

The roof beneath their feet collapses inward and a ghostly green dome envelopes them trapping the remaining Avengers and Bucky inside the crumbling building.  Bucky hears Roger’s yelling and his body tingles with the sensation of falling, his stomach lurches.  He’s been through this before.  No sooner than he recognizes the awful panic in his chest as fear Bucky realizes someone is falling with him.  It’s too dark to see but Bucky can make out Steve’s grunts of pain as rubble attempts to bury them.  Bucky sucks in a breath and blindly grabs for Steve, a particular jagged piece of concrete hits Bucky’s temple as he does.  He catches the Captain’s harness then pulls him close.  Steve uses his shield to break their fall, Bucky helps him press against the weight of the fallen rubble with the shield and for a moment the only sound is their heavy breathing.

Blood is pouring down the side of Bucky’s face and filling the little space there is inside his mask, he can taste it though with the way the rubble around them is groaning too much moving would be a bad idea.  A light flares to life in the form of a little led disk Steve produces from his suit.  The thing is awfully bright in the tight confines and screams Stark tech.  Steve is gingerly on his back pressing up with his free arm while Bucky is more or less on top of him using his metal arm to help him hold the shield over them both, now that Bucky can see he knows Steve isn’t in any better shape than he is.  The Captain doesn’t have blood threatening to fill his mouth however, he should really take the mask off—it was hard breathe as it was.  Bucky leaves the mask on.

“Stark and Rhodes will get us out.”  Steve says confidently, he gives Bucky a look somewhere between concerned and irritated, “You really just gonna keep that thing on your face?”

Bucky keeps his lips pressed together, making a humming noise in lieu of an answer.  Steve keeps looking at him.  The scrutiny makes Bucky want to punch him, as it was the possibility of being crushed to death wasn’t really worth it.  Only barely not worth it though.  The rubble shifts and it sounds like thunder, it pushes the two further down and closer to each other.  Bucky can see the exact shade of blue Steve’s eyes are.  Steve blinks and those eyes grow wide, not unlike the expression he had on the roof earlier.  Pain was reflected there, old and fresh at the same time. 

Steve swallows, “You said before, you weren’t trying to kill me.  So that means something else is going on.  That means we need to trust each other, especially right now.  I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Bucky smirks.  Nothing like bullshit magic from an Asgardian god to bring people together.

“Let me see your face.”  There’s something about the way Steve says it.  Kind of breathy, saturated in a broken tone.  Bucky knows intimately.

Bucky wipes off some blood around his left eye rather aggressively.  Captain America was right, they needed to “trust” one another and they already knew Natasha and Clint’s faces.  Slowly Bucky reaches behind his head and unlatches the mask.  He pulls the whole thing off and spits, finally able to breathe properly.  The air tastes like the inside of a vacuum cleaner but it was better than what he had been suffering.  When he looks up Steve is white as a sheet and holding his breath, his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“Bucky?”  Steve whispers.

Bucky, who was fine with a few people knowing his face held his actual name somewhat sacred, panics and sets himself to one thing he was great at: denial.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

 

 

 

 

tbc

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that this chapter is mostly dialog but Conversations need to be Had. Or very stubbornly not had. So there isn’t a helluva whole of moving forward with the connective plot but there will be assassin family time so there’s that.  
> All of your guys’ comments have been so amazing, you are all beams of absolute sunlight

 

Chapter 10

 

“I don’t know you.”  Bucky says slowly like’s talking to a particularly patriotic eight-year old.  He can’t look Steve in the face, because that face looks heartbroken and it feels as if he should fix that.  Like that’s somehow his job.  Its not.

“Yes, you do.”  Steve reaches out to grab Bucky’s free arm and Bucky jerks back instinctively.  The rubble around them shifts with the movement, a blizzard of dry wall dust rains down on them and Steve’s only able to graze Bucky’s arm.  Still, Bucky feels like he’s been burned.  The white dust turns to snow in Bucky’s mind, there’s a roar pounding in his ears he can’t quite place.  He looks to Steve and he looks more afraid than he’s ever seen him, frantic, framed by metal and snow.  Everything is so damned white.  Bucky blinks and the images are gone, he moves ever so slightly away from Steve and grits his teeth.

Steve’s face somehow crumples further.  Bucky takes a careful breath, mindful of the dust, “Listen, whatever you think you know about me, you’re wrong.  And this really isn’t the fucking time for whatever your fucking face is doing!”

Rather surprisingly Steve clenches his jaw and the soft look on him fades, though not entirely.  Bucky knows the expression to mean he’s putting aside what he wants for now but he wasn’t going to be giving up.  Gleaning such a personal meaning from a single expression was not normal, Bucky realized, even for someone trained in the observation of his targets.  Steve Rogers didn’t know him, but maybe he knew Steve Rogers.  His memory was long and fractured.  People, Places, and events were missing, Bucky had allowed it to stay that way for many reasons.  The pounding, stomach roiling pain shooting through his head right now was one of them.  People weren’t puzzle pieces, you can’t just try to fit in what’s missing for the whole picture.  The pain of memories trying to suture themselves back together after being shredded apart was not so easy to endure.

Bucky doesn’t wince nor make any outward sign of the pain he’s in.  Never show weakness to the enemy.  Never show weakness.  Never show anything.  Bucky blinks and asks Steve if he can feel the rubble being somehow lightened, Steve just looks bewildered in response.  He asks again more harshly before understanding he’d slipped into Russian.  Bucky growls lowly and works his uncooperative jaw,  he looks away letting his hair become a dark curtain between him and Steve.

“Bucky?”  Steve asks so painfully worried.  He sounds like he wants to touch Bucky again, thankfully he doesn’t.

Bucky doesn’t look up, his English is thickly accented and ice-cold, “ _Shut.  Up_.”

Steve makes a sound like he wants to protest, he’s cut off by a large portion of the floor next to his head clearing in a loud scrape of metal and getting yanked out by a pair of hot-rod red mechanical hands.  He leaves his shield behind with Bucky who now is using both hands from keeping himself from getting crushed.  The next second Steve is reaching back in, Bucky hesitates then lunges grabbing the offered arm tightly as they’re pulled out and the small enclave they’d secured collapses in behind them.

The cloud of dust hits Bucky right in the face, luckily his eyes were closed less luckily his mouth was open waiting to tell Steve to let the fuck go of him.  Steve stubbornly does not let go, not until Toney has them both safely on the ground and Bucky has enough leverage to pull himself away without severely hurting either men.  He shoves the shield at Steve’s chest, who almost doesn’t catch it before the shield threatened to clatter to the ground—he was watching Bucky too intently, noticing the obvious distance the assassin was putting between them.

They land next to the rest of the awaiting Avengers plus Clint being heavily supported by Natasha, Clint’s conscious but only barely.  When he see’s Bucky he slurs something next to Natasha’s ear that makes her have to fight a smile.  Bucky didn’t want to know.  The building they were in is nothing but a pile of debris, a mound of red brick and splintered wood.  Curiously its destruction is a solitary occurrence.  No other building looked to be disturbed. 

Bucky spits dust out of his mouth, this time he hears Clint mumble, “That’s real attractive.”

Clint whips around to look Natasha more fully in the face, “Hey!”  Natasha flinches, “How did you, did you…”  he points to his chest and makes a wiggly hand gesture meant to convey “mind control.”

“Cognitive recalibration.”  Natasha says.

“What?”

“I hit you really hard in the head.”

“Oh…good.”

“Loki?”  Bucky asks them.  His voice is still heavily accented and it’s noticed by both Natasha and Clint.  Even with whatever’s going on inside Clint he’s still worried about Bucky.  That really doesn’t help Bucky calm down, being weak in front of the people that need him most just made him angrier.  Unstable.  The word echoes inside his skull, followed by _erratic_ , and _he’s killed the whole science team sir, what do we do_? A cold wind picks up more dust and he has to blink against it, the distraction helps pull him back.

“Gone,” Wanda volunteers, “The Black Widow and I explained to the others.”  Explained was sort of a weak word to use.  Wanda sympathized with them, she and her brother shared a similar history with Hydra and while Wanda knew exactly what they did for a living she kept her mouth shut about it.  For the moment it was not important.  She would keep their secrets, that was the burden of her powers.

“Explained what exactly, what is Loki doing here?  Where did he go?”  Steve demands, his eyes hardly ever leave Bucky like he’s afraid he’s going to vanish at any second.

“Loki went to war.”  Bucky says carefully enunciating his words, “Against Hydra, which also happens to be S.H.I.E.L.D. good fucking job there _Avengers_.”

Stark bristles, “I’m inclined to throw your ass back into the trash pile kid.”

“I’d like to see you try.”  Bucky takes a step closer to him, perfectly willing to finish what he’d started earlier in a moment’s notice purely out of frustration.

“Stand down, soldier.”  Natasha’s voice is like a bell, bringing him back into his usual cool self.  He huffs and acknowledges her with a stiff nod.

“He meant to take most of you out today using us,” Natasha explains, Clint getting less woozy by the second continues for her, “And he’s been building an army.  S.H.I.E.L.D. has no shortage of enemies and with his magic…even if they weren’t following his tune they did fast enough.  His plan didn’t quite work.  He’ll be on his way to the Triskellion anyway.  Not immediately, but soon.”  By the end Clint sounds out of breath,

“And we’re supposed to just take the Red Scare and Legolas’ word for it?”  Tony addresses everyone incredulously.  Admittedly it’s hard for him to believe that Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. were one and the same.  All the stories Tony heard growing about Cap, the Commandoes, and his father destroying Hydra once and for all, and what, now he has to accept it was all for nothing?  Why was Cap not in his Righteous Fury Mode™, why was he looking at the metal arm asshole like he was the most precious thing he’d ever seen?

“Tony, you know what we’ve been looking into.  We knew there was something wrong happening inside S.H.I.E.L.D., if this is true then it explains a lot.”

Wanda challenged, “I saw into their minds, they are not lying.” 

“And _your_ first impression of someone has never been wrong.”  Tony grouses.

Steve puts his hands up, “Stop.  I trust her word.  I don’t think these guys would have reached out to us unless they had any other options.  We’re on the same side here, Tony.”

“Yeah?  For how long?  I have seen enough mercs in my time, Captain, and these guys—especially your Terminator buddy there, are mercs.”

Clint leans over to Pietro, “It’s the arm.  I tell’em to keep it covered, a blind guy could pick him out of a line-up for being suspicious.  He’s a nice guy though.  Helps little old ladies cross the street and everything.”

Pietro blinks, “What is a ‘line-up’?”

Clint gives the speedster a profoundly disappointed look and swivels his head around picking out Sam who thus far was doing a good job of silently judging everyone and creating a bullet points in his head to bring up to Cap later about why all this is A Very Bad Idea, “You.  You talk to me instead.  We’re birds of a feather.  Get it?”

Sam gives him an unimpressed twitch of the eyebrow, “Oh, I don’t think so.  Your girlfriend electrocuted me, man, I can take a punch but that’s just playing dirty.”

“Girlfriend?”  Clint blinks, he’s getting most of his faculties back (slower than he’d like) and he knows what comes out of his mouth next is going to bring him all kinds of grief later and yet his dumbass mouth moves anyway, “…Psshhhh _, I wish_.”

“Hell of a time for Thor to be in Asgard.”  Rhodey says looking up at the sky. “Funny thing too, he said he thought he had a lead on Loki.”

“Distraction.”  Bucky says moving even further away from Steve to take a spot next to Clint effectively guarding the archer’s flank.  Loki had learned from his past mistakes, getting Thor out of the way took out their heaviest hitter.  If Loki’s plan had succeeded Thor would have never seen his brother’s hand in the Avenger’s destruction.  Appearing to help the job along threw a wrench in things for him, too bad.

Wanda agrees, “Heimdall will tell him soon enough.”

Bucky doesn’t know what a “Heimdall” is, doesn’t fucking care, what he wants is his people out of the open and safe.  They were exposed and the way Steve was tracking every goddamned move he made was grating on him, it wasn’t even in the watching for enemy behavior way.  His head hurt, he wanted to kill something and maybe eat like ten blueberry bagels.  He was almost inclined to let Loki burn S.H.I.E.L.D. to the ground, but Loki took Clint.  Messed with his mind, hurt him.  For that Bucky was going to make damned sure Loki was going to wish he never came to Earth.  Then there was A.P., their original employer who started this whole mess and still had dirt on the Winter Soldier and Black Widow that they were going to have to keep out of Avenger’s hands.  Bucky still had promises to keep, and miles to go before everyone he wanted dead was dead, or however that Robert Frost poem went.  The sentiment was the same.  More or less.

“We need to move.”  Says Natasha, Bucky’s inner burning impatience is reflected perfectly in her tone.  Her face on the other hand is smooth, the only emotion there is vague wry amusement which was something of a default for her in social situations.  She purposefully gave the Avengers _something_ alongside Bucky’s emphatic _nothing_ to put them more at ease.  Generally the tactic was successful.

Wilson agrees and it looks like it pains him.  That also could be the lingering effects of the Widow’s Bite, Natasha feels the smallest bit bad about it.  He never turns his back on her, it was endearing enough to her for him to earn something of a real smile.  He looks even more uncomfortable now.  Natasha’s grin widens showing teeth. Wilson stares right back suddenly aware he was being messed with.

“Want me to get you two a room?”  Tony interjects, “No?  Good because I don’t think I can deal with the emotional stress of Katniss coming at us again.  No offense, there…buddy.  It’s not like any of you have shared your names.  Which is kind of funny because I’ve had Jarvis running facial recognition on you since we got here and he’s got nothing so are we going to do this the polite way or what?”

Bucky flicks him off.

Steve moves toward Tony, purposefully putting his body between him and Bucky, “We need to see Director Fury, see if he’s…”

The reminder is like a cold bucket of water on the Avengers.  Bucky doesn’t know how relatively close they all were with the legendary man but the looks on their faces is telling enough.  Fury was at the Avengers Tower often enough lately.  It wasn’t likely Loki was the one to have him shot.  So far that hasn’t been the god’s style.  Wanting important people shot has been the style of one A.P. though.  It would seem Hydra was on to Steve and Fury as much as the vice versa.  Hydra never was one for loose ends, that they’ve grown so much made Bucky sick.  Sick with old aches and sick with the knowledge of maybe if he’d done something sooner, wiped them all out, this wouldn’t have happened.  Killing them all had been somewhat of reason to get up in the morning way back then, but man couldn’t run on revenge alone and eventually all that Hydra blood was just more blood.  He’d gotten tired.  He was tired now, there were too many people surrounding him wanting things of him.

“Hey, Hawkguy,” Rhodes starts.

“ _Hawkeye_.” The three assassins say in unison.

“Whatever, will Loki attack again soon?”  Rhodes was just as concerned about Fury as anybody, maybe not as much as Tony but Tony was, as ever, hiding his feelings very well.  They were, however, still on mission and Rhodes was always on point.  He was surrounded by people with Earth-altering powers, he had to be on point War Machine suit or no War Machine suit.

Clint shakes his head.  He doesn’t really need to lean against Natasha anymore but it feels nice, “No, he’ll regroup.  He’ll wait.  Then catch us off guard again.  It doesn’t matter what we prepare for, Loki will work around it.”

“We’ve defeated him before, we can do it again.”  Steve declares, the official sound of him makes Bucky cringe, it sounded practiced and wrong to his ears, “Until then we head back to the Tower, we need to regroup too, and report in to S.H.I.E.L.D. We don’t need to give them anymore reason to suspect us.”  The other Avengers don’t even say anything apparently ready to follow their Captain no matter what he’d decided.

“What about the Fellowship of the Ring, here?”  Tony continues to be the most possibly suspicious he could be.  Bucky couldn’t blame him, if the Avengers knew their body count they would probably be talking about jail sentences rather than battle plans.

“They come with us.”  Steve’s voice was one that expected no argument.

A “Haha, no.” chimed out of Clint.

Ever the diplomat Natasha explains Clint’s meaning, “We did the adult thing contacting you and we’ll contact you again in twenty-four hours.  We have a hurt friend too.”

“Oh no, we’re not letting any of you out of our sight.”  Tony says.

“You don’t have a choice.”  Bucky borders on threatening, he usually bordered on threatening though. 

Pietro rolls his eyes and picks up his sister zooming off, the kid has the right idea and Bucky turns to leave himself.  The hand that catches his wrist should have expected Bucky to go for his knife, he whirls around and presses the sharp side to Steve’s throat.  He doesn’t cut him, it’s a near-thing.

“Please…come back.  You have to.”  Steve finally sounds real again.  Bucky pulls the knife away aware of the tension drawn tight around them and the surprised faces not knowing what the fuck is going on.

“You’re wrong about me.”  Bucky doesn’t know what else to say face to face with Steve’s absolute heartbreak.

“No, I’m not.”  Steve gently lets go of Bucky’s wrist, biting his tongue against saying anything more or pushing too hard.  Steve’s barely hanging on as it is, he’s not sure if backing off is the right thing to do.  Bucky can read him so easily, Steve Rogers was a favored novel he’d read a thousand times but couldn’t remember any of the details of.

As they leave their separate ways Bucky can hear Sam ask Steve “What the hell was that all about?”  Bucky, Natasha, and Clint slip into the shadow before he can hear his explanation and before the Avengers can do anything to track them.  They’ve a car not far away, Natasha throws Clint in the back and Bucky takes shotgun.  The quiet that settles inside the car bugs Clint so much he eventually asks, “If we’re the Fellowship of the Ring, I’m obviously Legolas, so who are you guys?”

A stop sign comes and Natasha breaks so hard Clint is knocked forward.  He lands between the front seats.  Natasha peers down coldly, “Disappear like that again and I’ll kill you.”  She then drags him up by the collar of his suit into a fierce hug if not somewhat awkward because of the position.

Someone honks behind them and she lets go.  Clint gives an expectant look to Bucky, Bucky scoffs, “Fuck you, Barton.”

“Not even a little one?  Like three seconds long?”  The little smile Clint earns from Bucky is just as good.  Clint returns to slouching in the back seat feeling pacified.  They are all keeping their heartache locked away tight but at the very least they can still smile.  That’s have the battle right there.

Ten minutes down the road Bucky comes to a conclusion, “Gandalf.  Natalia is Gandalf.”

Clint barks out a surprised laugh, half at the seriousness of Bucky’s voice and half because of the subject matter as a whole in their current circumstances.  Natasha nods sagely at the proclamation.  It was then decided Bucky was Aragorn for no other reason than the hair.  They could be facing the sun crashing into the Earth and the three would still be giving each other shit.  Comfort to them was knowing no matter what devastation was to come there was someone by your side to face it with you.

Arriving back at their office from a long job always felt weird.  They hadn’t been gone long compared to, say, those three weeks in Cambodia last Fall, yet they felt like it’d been too long since they were on their own home field.  The problems they had were huge but their office was small, smalltime is what they needed right now.  First thing Clint does is collapse face first into the couch.  His head was still faintly throbbing, in the furthest reaches he could feel the damage of Loki’s presence like slime left in the wake of a slug.  Clint swallowed against the urge to hurl and instead curls into the couch cushions impossibly further until it’s a little difficult to breathe but that’s alright because he’s _home_.  He hadn’t been sleeping while he was working for Loki, the god didn’t seem to realize that humans did that so often or more likely didn’t care, so it was easy for Clint to drift off just as Natasha throws a blanket over him and takes off his boots.

Natasha stares at Clint a little longer than would be considered socially acceptable but it wasn’t like he could see her.  If you’re not seen then it never happened.  Bucky appears next to her, blue-grey eyes assessing Clint, looking for damage.  She knew Clint would be fine on the outside, it was the inside she was worried about.  Bucky looked no better.  He was pale, a line between his brows betrayed the mountains of stress he was feeling.  Natasha wanted to smooth that line out.

“I put some coffee on.”  Bucky murmurs softly.  He’s lost the thick accent, now he just sounds hollow.

“You should wash that blood off your face, handsome.”  Natasha says jokingly but not.  She doesn’t like the way the dried red makes him look paler and fragile.

Bucky nods, doesn’t move, “We need an outside man.”  He tells her.  Someone they could mostly trust that the Avengers didn’t know about.

Natasha agrees, “We need _two_ outside men.  With training.  Someone up high and someone down low.”

“Up high, huh?  Clint won’t like that.  She might not even get here in time, that’s a long flight.”

“Girl’s got money, she’ll make it work.  Do you have somebody in mind for on the ground?”

Bucky smirks, “I don’t know if ‘down-low’ is in his wheelhouse, but yeah, I got somebody in mind.  I’ll put out the call.”

They share a long silence after Bucky sends two parsley yet ominously worded texts.  They’d become tense, and watchful.  The chances of Clint getting kidnapped by anything right there in front of them are slim to none.  Clint’s snoring is the only thing that eventually drives them away to the kitchen where Bucky towels-off his face.  Over a cup of coffee Natasha and Bucky pointedly don’t talk.  Natasha doesn’t ask why the hell Captain America obviously recognized him, more than that why Bucky seemed to be extremely important to the Nation’s Hero.  She can draw her own conclusions, she can wait.  With her boys back where they belong it’s easier to breathe now, getting Clint back and then watching Bucky fall…she could have gone a bad way rather than calmly work with the Avengers and explain what was happening.  Well, the annotated version of what was happening.  Natasha wanted to hold a gun on the world and tell it to give Bucky back, leave Clint alone, and not to follow them when they bled back into the shadows where it was safe.  The sort of helplessness she’d experienced the past few days was a feeling she’d sworn off ages ago, being forced to confront that again was bound to disturbed the cement poured in her cracks.  She and Bucky were mirrors of each other in that respect.

Natasha’s hands are too warm around her coffee cup, Bucky’s doesn’t bother him—he uses his metal hand as his dominant one for nearly everything.  She likes the way the heat seeps in her skin and the way the tiny kitchen had a habit of getting too warm when more than one person occupied it.  She loves the sound of Clint rustling beneath his cover and the way Bucky taps his arm with a frown when it whirs too loudly. Thanks to having to hold up a building he would have to recalibrate the arm later.  Her fear of what she could have lost is turned into an awful bone-deep rage that someone attempted to take that all away from her in the first place, that someone was still trying. Natasha had worked too hard to allow herself some happiness.  Whatever gods that may be, better have pity on the one responsible because the Black Widow would not.

Bucky clinks his cup against Natasha’s breaking her away from whatever scenarios the redhead was concocting.  Murder probably.  She stares back at him, eyes gleaming.  Murder definitely.  Her face softens and she slowly relaxes more into the rickety table chair they rescued from the curb years ago.  Her fingers find his and she asks, “Are you alright?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“Good.”  He watches her get up and retrieve a very old bottle of vodka from beneath the sink. The label is too worn to read and when Natasha opens the top the coffee smell in the air is cut sharply with pure alcohol.  She pours enough in each of their cups so that there is more vodka than coffee, Bucky can’t help but grin at the satisfied look on her face. They would have to drink massive amounts to get truly drunk, more than they had at the office.  The taste had good memories attached to it however, and that was good enough.

Natasha rises her cup, Bucky just now notices the picture of a smiling puppy printed on the side, “Na pasashók.”

Bucky repeats the toast and clinks their cups together hard, it was a wonder they didn’t shatter.  He takes a big gulp and revels in the burn.  After the initial large drink they draw their cups out.  At the very end of his Bucky admits to Natasha what he couldn’t to himself, maybe because while he could lie to himself all the live-long day but lying to _her_ was impossible.

“I knew him.”

Natasha isn’t surprised, “But you don’t remember him.”

That’s the hardest part, Bucky thinks, knowing something in his heart but his head refusing to show him _why._ The question remained, did he want to remember?  Was adding another weak point to his armor the smart thing to do, and literally everything about Steve Rogers screamed weak point.  Already he had Bucky second guessing what he knows, has him knocked off balance at a time when he needed to be focused and steady.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Bucky shrugs, “Nothing.”

“Might be worth the pain, James.”

“The only thing that’s ever been worth the pain was you, Natalia.  I’m not interested in going backward.”  Every cell in his body was screaming at him to go backward, just glance at the right time and the right way and maybe somebody would be standing there waiting for him.  Someone who had been waiting for him for a very long time, someone worth the pain too. 

Bucky pushes everything down and says, “You know what I miss?”

Natasha raises a fine eyebrow.

“Russia.”

Despite herself Natasha smiles and let’s Bucky drop the more important subject, “I will be always fond of Moscow.”

“I was stationed in a sniper’s nest on top of St.  Basil’s for three whole days.  Target never came but it was a nice view.  Fucking cold.”  Bucky reminisces.

Clint wakes up to the sound of Tasha and Buck telling stories about the Motherland, he lets their voices lull him back to sleep.  Trouble would come knocking soon enough, for now everything was like it was before, untouched and immortal in a moment.  Clint could pretend for a while, he held on to their voices while he dozed again like talismans to keep the nightmares at bay.  It worked.

 

 

 

 

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na pasashók—Russian toast meaning “one for the road”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times can Tony Stark work AC/DC into a conversation? The answer is so many. How much do I love y’all for your comments and kudos? So so so much.

 

**Chapter 11**

 

 

Clint meets Thor.  More like Clint meets Thor’s luscious breast, Clint winces at his brain’s own choice of words, when he walks into him outside Avengers Tower.  He can hear the unique flesh on metal sound of Bucky clapping behind him, “Fucking _Hawkeye_.”

Aw c’mon, honestly it wasn’t his fault.  His mind was still the tiniest bit foggy and he was trying to keep an eye on everything, so much so he accidently neglected what was right in front of him.  When Clint looks up, up, up into bewildered ocean-blue eyes and…stares?  That too is an accident.  Stark assures him later not to worry; everybody got somewhat “Thunderstruck” by Thor when they meet him face-to-face.  Bucky is biting his lip in that way that means the metal-armed bastard is trying very hard not to say something else too dick-ish.  Clint wishes Natasha was with them, yes, they were there in the promised twenty-four hours but for them all to go to the Tower at the same time would be giving the Avengers their complete and absolute trust which was, frankly, laughable.  Natasha was “near” however.  Likely near enough to see him stammer out an apology to the Freaking God of Thunder.  She probably took a picture.  Natasha would also probably meet them inside eventually, after she finished whatever shadowy business she was up to.  It was called compartmentalization.  No one could spill all the secrets because no one knew all the secrets.  They had to be careful with the Scarlet Witch in their midst.  Mind-readers, thunder gods, and magic, they were so not trained for this shit.

“ _I_ am the one who owes _you_ an apology,”  Thor says in a very formal sounding voice, he speaks lower than Clint would have thought and dressed more modern than his Avenging outfit would suggest, “my friends told me about what my brother did to you.  It should have never happened, I am sorry, truly.”

Clint blinks, “You’re not mad I tried to kill your friend?”  And anyone who had attempted to get in his way.

“Loki’s scepter contains power beyond mortal imagination, the inevitable result of Loki wielding such a thing was not your fault.”  Thor responds gravely then waits a beat before smirking good-naturedly, “Besides, I’ve met some of my greatest friends whilst they were trying to acquaint my face with their fists.”

Clint relaxes and grins, “Yeah?  I guess we have that in common.”

Thor’s eyes flick over to Bucky.  Bucky doesn’t particularly look like a warrior, he’s in his old leather jacket and wearing a black shirt that read in tiny white block lettering simply: _no._   His metal hand is barely visible under the cuffs of the jacket and his hair is tied loosely back, he looks guarded and too young.  Thor still sees the danger Bucky exudes effortlessly, Bucky meets Thor’s gaze unflinching—Thor nods, satisfied, “Then you must be a fine warrior to have such impressive friends.  Come, let us go meet my own friends together.  I only lament not being able to know your names.”

Bucky gives Clint an affirming look and they follow the princely Asgardian inside going right past the front desk and all the security measures.  Bucky looks nervous, Bucky was never nervous, and that made Clint really nervous.  Clint was in his casual wear too, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a purple minimalist arrow emblem on the chest, he felt incredibly under dressed when they reached the main floor of the tower.  Everything was very shiny, bright, the kind of taste J.J. Abrams would appreciate.  More than that there was the overpowering smell of fresh baked brownies in the air.

A perpetually manic Stark appears around a corner looking like had been working in a garage, “Welcome to the house of rock…Yeah I know,” he notices Clint subtly sniffing the air, “It’s Wilson in the kitchen again.  He stress-bakes.  We don’t talk about it.  Where’s red-headed Judas?”  Starks sounds flippant, like he couldn’t care less and was oh so at ease.  Bucky saw the tension in his shoulders the way the man’s eyes always came back to them after darting to exits and less obviously—secret security measures he no doubt put in place the moment they found out Natasha was a spy.  Bucky takes note of everywhere Stark looks, adding it to his mental list of possible Avengers weaknesses.  The brownie thing…yeah, he’s got no idea what mental checklist that information should go in.  Interesting but Useless Facts about Sam Wilson?

“You know,” Bucky shrugs, he doesn’t know, “Around.”

“Uh-huh, _sure_.”  Stark says then looks to Thor, “Hey, big guy, you didn’t happen to see a small evil woman in a black cat-suit when you escorted our guests up, did you?”

Thor, bless him, just looks confused, “Our meeting was circumstantial however they had no woman with them, ‘evil’ or otherwise.  Are we not supposed to be working _with_ them?”  The last bit is said with the slightest bit of accusation toward Tony.  With Thor when it came to battle there were only either friends or enemies.  If you were on the same side you were on the same side, period.  He was aware life was not so black and white.  Loki taught that cruel lesson to him.  However he still believed if suspicion and animosity was all you showed someone then that was all you would receive in return.

“Awfully open,” Bucky drawls more Brooklyn than Moscow than ever as he draws attention away from the subject of Natasha, “This place secure?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has no idea you’re here, I have feedback loops set up on our open channels with the agency and I thought you were Russian?”  Tony ends walking closer with swagger Bucky see’s through instantly.

Bucky replies, “I am.”, the same time Clint says, “He is.”  They look at each other and settle on, “It’s complicated.”  Complicated like how Bucky absolutely hates Rocky IV because he believes the Russian would have won in a real fight and yet was filled with fury from an unknown origin over the fact the Dodgers were in L.A. now.  He also once threw two whole pizzas out a fifth story window because they had accidently put pineapple on it while he had “Kalinka” playing on vinyl in the background of his apartment.  Complicated.

Stark gives them a hard look Bucky can understand.  They were shady as fuck and yet here they were, working with the Avengers.   Starks shakes his head and grins a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Right.”

“Where’s Steve?”  Bucky asks without realizing the familiarity of his tone, the way he uses the Captain’s name like they were old…somethings.  No one but Clint seems to notice his misstep.

“Waiting for us,” Stark gives them one last suspicious look over his shoulder then flicks his hand, “come along Ponds.”

They allow Stark to lead them past a purely decorative sci-fi parlor of sorts to a living area with a huge white round sofa, a freaking projector, and more square footage than the whole of their office.  The Maximoffs are standing by the glass wall separating them from an outdoor patio and Rogers accompanied by Rhodes are sitting on the leather cushions of the sofa expectantly.  Thor claps a hand on Clint’s shoulder as he strides past and gives Bucky a respectful nod apparently he could tell his touch would have been not so welcomed.  He was attentive, Clint would give the guy that.  A moment of awkward silence fell over them all.  Steve’s jaw was doing “a thing” but otherwise he was made of stone, Wanda looked worried, Pietro bored and firmly on the side of not giving a fuck about anything (it reminded Clint how young those kids were), and Rhodes appeared ready to throw down if he needed to.  The tension was broke by Wilson marching in just as grim as everyone else with pink oven mitt covered hands carrying a deep casserole dish with steaming brownies inside.  Wilson drops the dish on the middle of a sleek metal center table startling everyone with the loud clang it made, he stabs the dish with a spatula, gives the assembled people an unimpressed look then marches right back out without a word.

Clint opens his mouth but is stopped by a cease and desist gesture from a wide-eyed Wanda.  Right, they don’t talk about it.  He didn’t see what the big deal was.  Bucky sharpened _knives_ when he was stressed. Sometimes he _threw_ them. Baking delicious-smelling pastries was waaaay better than that.

Thor looks around, “Is anyone going to eat this?” he doesn’t wait for anyone to say otherwise before he starts digging in.  Thor might have been a god but he was also an entitled prince for most of his life.

Asshole that he is, Bucky just can’t help himself, “Earth’s mightiest heroes.”  He says lips curling.

“From what I’ve heard about the Winter Soldier,” Rhodes starts, “you’re not quite living up to expectations either, man.”

Bucky gives him a piercing look, “Izvinitye myenya, I can change that for you if you like.”

“Easy, bro.”  Clint  purposefully blocks Bucky’s line of sight in an attempt to keep his friend calm but also because Rogers is doing that super intense staring bit again which no doubt riled Buck up even more.  The thousand-yard stare shrouding his face fades to Bucky’s usual “don’t fuck with me” stare which turns quickly into ill-disguised wonder at something in Stark’s hand.  Bucky doesn’t do anything about his interest at the smartphone at first, some kind Clint had never seen before, but his metal hand does twitch, which usually meant he’d corner Stark eventually to explain the new gadget or the said gadget was going to go mysteriously missing when they left.

Turns out Bucky doesn’t have to accidently abscond with anything.  Stark notices his interest and immediately starts in with a real genuine smile, “Nice, huh?  New model, won’t ever hit the shelves, holographic technology and enough storage space to download the Pentagon.”

“No way.”  Bucky takes a step toward him all bright puppy dog eyes and Stark doesn’t shift away, quite the opposite.  Clint had the impression no one present really allowed Stark much time to showcase his little inventions or had much interest in them.  Overexposure to Tony Stark had consequences.

“B—ahem, _Winter_ modified his Starkphone.  He can’t download the Pentagon but he can give Starbucks a run for their money, also its metal arm proof.”  Clint volunteers conversationally.  Sure, he wasn’t a spy but he knew people, he knew how to get them to relax and if there was anything this meet and greet needed it was to chill the fuck out.

“ _Really_?”  Stark practically rocks back on his feet and allows Bucky to fiddle with his phone for second, “Tell, you what Terminator, you manage to not kill any of us by time all this is over I’ll hook you up.  Maybe let me take a look at that arm in the meantime?”

Bucky shrugs, “Sure.” and rolls his sleeve up for the mad scientist.  Stark can’t keep his hands to himself and brushes a single finger along the metal forearm looking mesmerized when the plates shift under his finger.

“Tony.”  Rogers’ warns.

“Calm down, Capsicle, you’re not the only one allowed to have a crush.”  Stark says, despite his words he leans away casting Bucky with a flat-out charming smile.  Rogers’ face goes red, embarrassment or anger Clint wasn’t sure.  Either way the poor guy looks like he’s about to explode.  Bucky returns Starks smile with a matching charming grin—the kind he used when he wanted to convince someone of something against their nature, Clint would swear he can hear Rogers’ jaw crack.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Clint chimes, “What are we going to do about our infestation problem?”

Stark drags a pliant Bucky with him to the couch getting a better look at the arm while Buck still has Stark’s damned phone in his other hand, Clint trails along.  Thor offers Clint some brownie and Clint takes it without so much as a second thought.  Natasha would explain the multiple types of poisons that could kill a grown man in ten seconds later he was sure.  Or knockout drugs for interrogation, Clint chewed—it was heavenly and so worth the possible poisoning.  Clint sighed, what was his life?

“We get our people out first, and then take the whole thing down.”  Rogers says.  He’s angry, course he would be.  Hydra was his greatest foe and it turns out he’d been working for them this whole time.

“Nick wouldn’t want that.”  Tony argues.

“Nick’s not here.”  A few of them flinch but the Maximoff girl does not and Bucky takes that as a sign that the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. likely survived his attempted assassination, the Avengers didn’t want them to know either way.  Good for them, actually functioning like secret-keeping adults.

Bucky tries not to crush Stark’s fingers every time he prods something on his arm, they were playing nice and generally speaking crushing fingers was not a nice thing to do in a new unit.  He’s pretty damned good at acting these days.  Bucky doesn’t want to credit that to his time as _The_ Winter Soldier, before he reclaimed the name, but he knows it’s true.  Somethings one learns over time, other things are learned because there’s a giant Russian holding a cattle prod on you.  Docile is how they wanted him, electricity seemed to work best, but the Russians still wanted him as a soldier.  Capable to work on his own for extended periods of time, alter complex plans mid-mission if needed without support.  When Hydra came along that changed.  Hydra wanted a weapon pure and simple, one that could change history with a single bullet and Hydra liked pain whereas the Russians used pain as a tool Hydra was just…really, fucked up.  Bucky blinks and grinds his teeth, this was not the time or the place to look down that road.  Steve only gives the arm subtle glances since they showed up, he looks pained.  That kind of makes Bucky want to punch him.  Is it hard to look at?  Hell, he should imagine how hard it was to _put on_.  He starts glaring at the other man without really meaning to.  Steve visibly shrinks into himself after his “we’re gonna take ‘em down” speech and Bucky immediately sort of feels like shit.  Which of course makes him look even more pissed off.  He can’t help is goddamned face, ok?

“I’m almost done decoding the flash drive he gave you.”  Tony says finally letting go of Bucky’s arm.  Bucky takes a silent breath in relief.  “Damned thing is nearly uncrackable.  A weird mix of high and low tech, it’s got a two-function sort of vibe about it?  I’m not sure yet but I will find out.  Do you know what this thing is made out of?”  Stark asks Bucky suddenly.  The guy is something of a shotgun.  Most of his outward suspicion had eased into a familiar banter.  He reminds Bucky of someone.  Maybe it was something around the eyes?  Bucky got that feeling before when he met Stark, hadn’t been a nice one at the time.

Without missing a step Bucky deadpans, “Boyfriend material.”  Actually a blend of vibranium and other strong base metals over a complex cybernetic system that was reinforced on his fucking spine.

Tony falls backward into the cushions laughing and Clint hides his face in his hands.  The world might be ending right before Clint’s eyes because the worst thing possible has happened, Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark are getting along.  Steve appears to share Clint’s sentiments, he gets to his feet with his hands curling into fists at his sides.  Thor and Rhodes seemed amused however which helps the tension lessen even further.  The Twins share a look, Wanda says something in Sokovian and Pietro nods understandably and chuckles.  Wanda elbows him, hard, Pietro glances at their Captain and seems to comprehend what the whole room knew:  Captain America wanted to get it on with the Winter Soldier and was having a hard time dealing with it.  Wanda stares at Clint, incredulous, he’s apparently thought that very loudly.  He thinks about some Barry Manilow and a slow motion Bucky/Cap embrace and the Scarlet Witch looks more amused than Clint’s ever seen her.  He considered it a personal victory.  She rolls her eyes in a very Natasha-esque way.  Just the right amount “this guy is a fucking idiot” and “I sorta like this fucking idiot”, made Clint feel all warm and gooey inside or maybe that was the brownies.

“Don’t worry, BooBoo,” Tony catches his breath smiles at Rhodes, “You’re still the only one for me.”

Rhodes crosses his arms faux-offended, “Better be.”

“Right,” Steve frowns all business, “Tony get the drive open.  Soon.  Pierce called me in this last night.  He wanted the drive.  He didn’t ask for it in so many words but he knew Fury gave me something.”

Tony squints, “Fishy.”

Clint asks, “Who’s Pierce?”

“Alexander Peirce.”  Tony explains, tone authoritative and clear with his usual added flair, “World Security Council.  Nobel Peace Prize nominee.  The most American all-American type you would ever meet with plaques with his name on it all over the nation. And…”

“Shady as fuck?”  Clint suggests.

Tony snaps his fingers, “That.”

It doesn’t escape Bucky and Clint’s attentions Alexander Pierce matched the initials A.P.  and had the kind of clout inside S.H.I.E.L.D. to pull off a hit on Captain America.  If S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra were the same thing then it would be safe to assume Pierce was Hydra too, he likely would know about the Winter Soldier and Black Widow files.  They needed to get to D.C. put an arrow in Loki and a bullet in Peirce, come back home, eat tacos.  Clint thought it was a great plan.  Undefined but still great.  Bucky and Clint reiterate what they learned about Hydra from Loki and the interesting intel they got on the Lemurian Star.  Not everything, never everything.  Bucky doesn’t mention the fate of Brock Rumlow.

“All right, Captain.”  Tony says, the whole room turns their attention to Rogers the discomfort he radiates is smoothed away in a flash, “Orders?”

“Suit up.  We can’t wait for anyone else to make the first move.”  For once.  That was the thing about the Avengers.  They Avenged.  After the fact.  Bucky could get behind stopping awful shit before it happened.  Steve takes a breath, “Give the people a chance to fight back.  We tell them about Hydra.  They didn’t know, there are good people within S.H.I.E.L.D. , _we_ didn’t even know and we won’t abandon them.”

Bucky’s face does this odd thing Clint hates when he says full of venom, “No man left behind?”

Steve pales, whatever he’s about to say to Bucky is cut off by Sam’s “Damned right.” as the man comes back into the room this time carrying a tray of peanut butter cookies.  He places the tray next to the brownies gently now, he seems much less pensive and proud of his perfectly round creations.

“Were you ever actually a soldier, or is that just a little made-up code name you have in your little, whatever you guys are.”  Sam could be pretty intimidating for a man that smelled like Betty Crocker.  Bucky glares and says nothing.  His go-to really.  He was _The_ soldier, however his Rules of Engagement were a bit different.  He didn’t have to explain himself to a stanger.

“We prefer the term ‘entrepreneurs’.”  Clint answers easily taking a cookie.

Wanda scoffs, “Somehow I do not believe that is what you would call it.”

Rhodes takes a place between Sam and Steve, “We need to head out tonight.  Start making our move.  We need to get you an audience, Cap, and our people in place for the fall out.”

“Don’t you think you need irrefutable proof? Or do you expect the world to take Captain America’s word for it?”  Clint can concede Rogers definitely has one of those very trustworthy faces.  He would believe him, didn’t mean the rest of the world would.

“Listen shoot-to-thrill, the proof is the drive, we just have to crack it _._ ”  Tony seemed certain.  Which was good, otherwise Natasha currently making a secret copy of the drive while all the Avengers were focused in one room would be pointless.  She knew the Tower’s security like the back of her hand now and the changes Stark made had been predictable.  They had their own computer genius and their own answers to get.  Plus they were going to need that information safe and sound when Bucky destroyed the original.  For now that was the plan.  Dirty pool?  Of course, they weren’t big damned heroes, they were however certain that the Avengers didn’t necessarily need to know what Hydra knew.  Natasha takes the copy and throws it off the lab’s balcony.  She hears a whistle through the air and smirks.

“Jarvis, how close are we on that, I’ve been running the specs all day, it should be anytime now…Jarvis?”  Tony looks above him, then around when he receives no answer

“I apologize, Sir.”  Says an English accented voice, “but I seem to be malfunctioning.  I suspect a security threat.”

And like that all the Avengers are on red-alert.  Tony leaps up from couch on the move to the elevator, “Jarvis, where?”

“Sir,” the voice sounds disjointed, “There is some type of interference.  The.  Laboratory.”

Stark punches the down button.  The elevator doors open an there standing calmly blowing bubble gum is Natasha Romanov hands in the pockets of a simple striped hoodie looking completely harmless and younger than she really was.

“Ah,” Tony starts fuming, “the problem child.  We were wondering where you were.  What the hell did you do to my building?”  He puts arm against the elevator’s doors holding them open and blocking Natasha at the same time.

Natasha pops her bubble and starts chewing comically loud, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr.  Stark.”

“Sir, it seems the malfunction has corrected itself.  I’m scanning now for a source for the anomaly…there’s a high possibility some type of sensory scrambling system was used.  I detect nothing of the sort on the Black Widow’s person.” 

“Wanda.”  Tony barks.

Wand scowls but soon enough her eyes shimmer red, she blinks confused, “I do not know.  She thinks of nothing but a brick wall and red lights.  Her thoughts are in…Mandarin?  Her friends were not even expecting her to show up but they are not surprised.”

Natasha ducks beneath Stark gracefully, “I’m here because you asked me to be.  We are not the cause of all your people’s problems.  Get over it.”

“Sir?  Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have just exited the building, they have worked here for the past year however and it _is_ their lunch break.”  The A.I. sounds as convinced of the Widow’s innocence as its master.  “Also, Mr.  Hogun is on his way with a security detail through the emergency lift.  I informed him that course of action was no longer needed—”

As if on cue a large man carrying a Glock, usually a bad combination, leading a small team of other men in suits burst into the room, “Boss!”

“Happy, wait!”  Tony tries to stop the overzealous head of security from throwing an unwarranted jab at Natasha.

Natasha dodges without taking her hands from her pockets and from there the situation erupts.  Pietro zooms forward getting Tony out of the fray.  The suits surround Natasha, reaching for their guns.  _Jesus_ , Bucky frowns, these people were way too trigger happy.  If the Winter fucking Soldier thinks you’re trigger happy you have a goddamned problem.  He sidles up to Sam, unconcerned, producing a couple of hundred dollar bills, “Two hundred on the Widow.”

Sam takes the cash, “Is that dried blood?”

Bucky glances at the bills Sam is inspecting, “…No?”  Yes, it was blood.

Thor’s lips quirk downwards, “You do not wish to help your friend?”

Bucky doesn’t get the opportunity to tell Thor his interference wouldn’t be needed, it would in fact likely lengthen the confrontation, because Natasha ducks again and isn’t visible for several seconds the next thing anyone knows all the suits are laid out flat on their backs grasping their shins groaning in pain.  Happy Hogun is the only one left standing, he draws up his weapon to shoot and Natasha leaps to his shoulders in a streamlined arc.  Her thighs wrap around his head and she flips the heavy man to the ground with the rest of his compatriots.  Natasha hands are still in her pockets, she blows another bubble.  Then men will fully recover, if they had been anywhere but in the sights of the Avenger’s that probably wouldn’t have been the case.

“Girl’s got rhythm.”  Tony says under his breath, grudgingly impressed.

“I trained those guys myself.”  An awed Rhodes adds.

Bucky doesn’t say, “Well, I trained _her_ ”, but the pride must be evident on his face.  Natasha sends him indulgent look.  She walks up to Bucky and Clint and gives them matching pecks on the cheek before prowling up to the couch then flopping down like the Queen of Sheba.

It takes twenty whole minutes to calm Happy down.  Rhodes gets him and his detail out of the room after most of the fuss dissipates.  The opposing teams agree they’ve wasted enough time and again they agree to meet to take on Loki and Hydra “together”.  The word was having a looser and looser meaning the longer they got to know one another.  Honestly, it was shame, because for the most part they were on the cusp of _liking_ the other team.  Liking someone didn’t mean much.  Bucky had liked a lot of people he was forced together with under the thumb of the Red Room/Hydra, liked them right up until he had to but a bullet in their brain.  With Steve things were a little different.  A lot different.  He couldn’t bring himself to focus well when it came to the Captain.  The first thing he thought when Bucky saw him that day was that the jacket he was wearing looked a little thin and maybe Rogers should bundle up better which was just fucking weird.  Steve didn’t make Bucky’s state mind easier with his lingering puppy eyes and his…nice…face.  Bucky’s eyes narrow, always the face.  And his voice.  And why were his eyelashes so fucking long that wasn’t very commander-like.

They decided heading to D.C. was the best option, again the assassins agree to meet up with Avengers, this time for a “lunch date” near the Washington Monument.  Before Bucky can escape the room Steve’s in front of him, a bulwark of sincerity that makes Bucky want to do what he was mentally calling “weird shit”.  The Captain waits for the room to filter out being very obvious about it the whole time.  Natasha and Clint wait for Bucky and Sam for Steve, no one willing to let either be alone with the other.

“I,” Steve takes a long even breath, “understand you won’t believe me, whatever I say to you.  I don’t know what happened to you after I lost you, but I’m guessing it had something to do with serum and the experiments.  I am so sorry.”  Steve’s voice cracks and he has to take another heavy moment to gather himself, his hands twitch in a desire to reach out, instead they retrieve a folded up pamphlet from his pocket, “I can’t convince you but maybe this will.”

Bucky blinks at the mention of the serum then takes the pamphlet blankly.  It’s for an exhibit in the Smithsonian for Captain America of all things, conveniently in D.C.  Bucky raises an eyebrow, “You want me to go a museum.  And look at a weird memorial of your life?  Are you fucking serious?”

“I am very fucking serious.”  Steve replies sounding very Brooklyn and something about that made Bucky drops his guard just a little, long enough for Steve to swoop in with the fastest hug ever then make a hasty tactical retreat.  Bucky let the hug happen.  It was warm and nice and left Bucky with faintest of flushes to his high cheekbones.  Steve smelled like coming home.

Bucky stuffs the pamphlet into his back pocket and joins Clint and Natasha at the elevator.  Clint opens his mouth and Natasha cuts off anything he has to say with a sharp look.  That doesn’t last long—about the time it takes to step into the elevator and for it to close behind him in a chirpy little ping.

“Sooooo,” Clint begins physically unable to not say anything, “Are we gonna just pretend that never happened?”

The blush on Bucky deepens, “23.”

“Ways to kill me before we step out?  Yeah, I know, still is that like a thing now?  You and Captain America?”

Bucky reverts to stoic silence.  They come to the ground floor and Natasha says, “24.”

Buck looks up seeing some scenario Clint doesn’t, “Oh, yeah.  24.”

“You Russian murder machines think you’re so cute.”  Clint mutters, “You’re just rude.”

 

In Bed-Stuy at the same time Bucky, Natasha , and Clint are leaving the Tower a young woman is making herself at home in Clint Barton’s apartment.  Clint’s dog, Lucky, is lazily cozied-up at her feet while she flips a flash drive in the air and catches it.  Her tactical violet suit is spotless though her dark hair is somewhat frazzled.

She catches the drive one last time and hopes this “Skye” person can get back to the city fast  (she promised within twenty minutes, had to make a girl wonder where the hell she lived) and sighs, “I can’t believe Natasha saddled me with you.”

“Uh-huh,” Deadpool appears wearing a frilly pink apron over is normal red and black gear Kate was certain was not native to Clint’s apartment, he waves a pair of tongs at her, “Do you want a chimichanga or not?”

Wade wasn’t really a bad guy in the grand scheme of bad guys.  He was just difficult to handle at times and these times, according to the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier, were about to get really rough.  So either Natasha had a lot of faith in her or the celestial forces that move the universe really hated Kate Bishop.  Probably a mix of both.

Kate, aka the better Hawkeye, purses her lips, “With guac?”

“Of fucking course with guac, what are we animals?”

Lucky opens one eye to look at them, judging.

Apologetically Wade rephrases, “I mean, what are we, characters from a comic book filtered through a cinematic universe then brazenly written into a fanwork to suit a faceless author’s needs as plot devices in an out of control story about gay love, friendship, lies and murder?”

Kate stares, “ _What_?”

“What, what?  I mean, three chimis coming right up.”

“Three?”  Kate wonders out loud.  A knock on the door reveals the third recipient of Wade Wilson’s actually pretty good culinary skills.

Skye is weighed down by so much equipment her walk had a bit of a waddle to it.  Kate gets up quickly to help with all of it, because everyone knew of the two Hawkeyes Kate had all the manners.  She’s wrapped up tight against the unnatural cool weather permeating New York.

“Hi, I’m Skye, but uh, you probably already knew that, huh?  I didn’t think I’d been turning on my heels so soon but Natasha called, so here I am.”  Skye looks a little awkward but she smiles bright and Kate is instantly charmed.

Wade pokes his head around the corner; wafting smells of fried food accompany him, “That’s what happens when you agree to be on the B-team of an assassin’s guild.”

Skye pumps her fist in the air, “I _knew_ it was an assassin’s guild!”

“No it’s not.”  Kate echoes Bucky Barnes, “It’s nice to meet you I’m Hawkeye, that’s Deadpool and we need you to crack this flash drive before Tony Stark does.”

Skye loses all her enthusiasm, “Before Tony Stark.  _The_ Tony Stark?”

“That’s the one.”  Kate winks, “No pressure.”

Skye sits down hard on Clint’s crappy sofa, “Right, no pressure.”

 

Skye gets it done in an hour plus some change and six hours after that Avengers Tower suffers a burglary and massive amounts of property destruction.  Fingers on the team point to Hydra.  Their copy of the drive is gone and Tony has never felt so violated in his life.  Steve’s angry but doesn’t seem too worried.  He has a feeling if he keeps both eyes on Bucky and his friends something will turn up; he’d taken a page out of the assassin’s book and followed them.  But could he really successfully do surveillance on arguably the best in the business?  The answer was no.  But the world’s three greatest assassins were going to let Steve think he could.  Clint hums The Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage”  the whole ride back to the office where they call in a favor from some merc buddies with access to a helicopter.

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Izvinitye myenya” — Russian for “I’m sorry”, or just “sorry” but with the usual Barnes attitude added in.  
> Finally more Stucky!   
> It was really only a matter of time before Katie Kate came around. Because I am Hawkeye trash, both Hawkeyes, all the Hawkeyes. And I’m pretty sure we all knew Skye’s absence wouldn’t last long either. Neither would Wade’s. Together with Bucky, Tasha, and Clint they’re like my self-serving-sinnamon-roll-anti-avengers. I love my murder kids so damned much.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting seem a bit different? That's because I uploaded this chapter from my phone, its okay I love pain. Ao3 also apparently doesn't let you use the rich text box on mobile either. I'm okay, not grinding my teeth or anything. Anyway hopefully this is it too terrible.

                                    **Chapter 12**

 

“Remy! Remy, you piece of shit, wake the hell up!”  Bucky bangs his metal fist against the side of the most ragtag Black Hawk helicopter this side of the Sahara so hard the rickety chopper shakes at the force.

A drowsy, roguish, face soon appears at the side door opening grinning entirely too happily under the brutal gaze of the Winter Soldier, “Mon frère!”

“Don’t ‘mon frère’, me, LeBeau.”  Bucky scowls, “We were supposed to be in the air two hours ago.”

Remy drawls in a sweet and slow Louisiana accent, “We were.  The bird though, she’s an ill-tempered girl.  Won her in a card game you know, so don’t hold it against her.  It takes some time for the frost to shake off the feathers, I was simply resting my eyes, cher.”

“Everything you own you won in a card game.”  Bucky mutters.

Shrugging Remy replies, “Ain’t broke—”

“Don’t fix it, yeah, yeah.”  Bucky threads his hand through his loose hair.  He had the feeling if they didn’t show up to the meet Steve would do something…drastic.  On top of that the pamphlet burning a hole through Buck’s back pocket was doing exactly fuck-all for his anxiety levels.  What he was going to do with the pamphlet was still up in the air, unlike him, thanks to Remy.  Then again Clint was the one to suggest Remy “but only if I don’t owe you money” LeBeau to be their transport for the mission, so really Clint was to blame. 

Bucky cracks his neck, job, this was a job not a mission.  He rolls his shoulders and focuses on the pain in his left as to no reach in the damned helicopter and pull Remy out so Bucky could look at it himself.  Vietnam was the last time he ever worked on a helicopter, he was halfway certain he wouldn’t blow himself up.  Thirty-five percent certain , at least.  Bucky takes a deep calming breath.  At this point the possible explosion would almost be worth it.  If only to liberate him from Remy Hell.

Remy must have sensed the simmering anger under Bucky’s cool expression because he relents, “Ten minutes tops, I swear.”

Bucky stares, the plates in his arm shift quietly.

“I meant five minutes.”  Remy disappears again.  There’s some worrying clanging coming from inside and then moments later the blades shudder to life beginning to slowly rotate.

This was the reason Bucky got stuck retrieving Remy, the asshole didn’t seem to want to listen to anyone else.  People generally were smart enough to take one look at Natasha and understand with every self-preserving instinct they had she was One To Be Obeyed.  Not Remy, he was a few cards short a deck anyway.  For some reason Bucky was an exception, which was all kinds of strange.  Remy didn’t know Bucky’s past and yet Remy looked at him with understanding in his maroon-tinted eyes.  Didn’t mean he wasn’t still an asshole though, but really, all the best people were.

“Where we picking up the kids, cher?”  Remy yells over the chopping hum of the helicopter.

“The usual place.”  Bucky yells back climbing into the co-pilots seat.  

There was another thing, they didn’t go to Remy because of his sparkling personality and his impressive collection pin-up girl playing cards.  The man somehow, someway, manages to slip through airspace regulators every time he took flight.  He was untraceable, more than that no one even seemed to notice him at all.  Technology could only do so much—Remy had a secret up his sleeve.  If anyone asked him he would say “voodoo” through a bright white grin.

“Y’all love dramatic don’t you?”

Bucky shrugs.  Not really, he could go for a case of Russia’s finest and a helluva lot less dramatics thank you very fucking much.

The usual place for impromptu aerial pick-ups, which was a thing that happened quite a lot, was a little clearing by the docks Natasha more or less owned, surrounded by empty storage containers the area was mostly private.  Remy explained it was all very Mafioso the whole ride over from his temporary digs in Staten Island all the while fiddling with the radio that he had going in and out from Bruce Springsteen to Jazz then back again until Bucky very pointedly holds the dial down between two unmovable metal fingers.  The chopper wobbles a bit at first when they takeoff but soon evens out under Remy’s gentle guidance.  Bucky doesn’t remove his fingers until they land.  Nice thing about a cybernetic arm—they never get tired.  He also never needs a bottle opener which was subjectively less impressive.

Natasha and Clint are waiting at the landing sight, both carrying conspicuous large black duffle bags and wearing tac gear.  In one hand Clint is also balancing a disposal coffee tray with four large cups emblazoned with the Starbucks logo because the man was a fucking saint.  The Sanctified Clint Barton patron saint of coffee and long-shots (both figurative and literal) passes out the caffeine with the solemnity the act deserves.

Natasha strides up on Clint’s left all business, “Our girl hacked the drive. Ever heard of Camp Lehigh?”

Bucky shrugs handing up a coffee to Remy who had been politely ignoring their conversation since Bucky got out, “No, should I?”

She gives him a critical look, “Maybe.  I guess you could call it the birthplace of Captain America.”

Bucky glares.

“And S.H.I.E.L.D.’s.”  Natasha amends.

“No shit?”  Buck digests that information then asks, “You got it with you?”  Meaning the drive.

“Clint does.”

Clint heaves a sigh that racks the entire breadth of his shoulders.  His head hangs down slightly and he frowns his patented “Aw Katie Kate” frown.  The young archer had a way of beating her elder into submission.  Sometimes she didn’t even have to speak to do it.  Usually his despondent mood was because she drank all his coffee, which would be the more reasonable explanation as to why Clint went out and bought some.  Bought.  With actual money.  Clint also hated to put the girl in harm’s way but she was skilled and reliable, those two traits didn’t often come in the same package.  Plus Kate could handle Wade, according to Clint she’d done so before.  One day Bucky was going to ask what the fuck Clint was doing on his days off.

Bucky gives Clint a sympathetic pat on the back and hopes Kate doesn’t “borrow” Lucky again anytime soon, Clint had been insufferable for weeks.  Clint says head still pulled low, “They ate all my queso blanco.  It’s cool though…just…fine.”

“I don’t actually care that much.”  Bucky remarks after taking another gulp of his coffee that was almost too hot.

“You’re the worst.”  Clint hisses finally looking away from the ground.

“Obviously.”

“Down boys.”  Natasha cuts in.  She’s looking down at her mobile tapping a manicured fingered thoughtfully on the back of it.  When she looks ups her emerald eyes pin Bucky where he stands, he knows he’s not going to like what she has to say next.  “We should take Rogers.”

“Nyet.”

“James, he’s in this too.  I don’t like sharing, you know that, but…”

“But having him with us keeps the A-team off our back and he might know why Camp Lehigh matters so damned much.”  Clint adds in.  Bucky casts him a betrayed look Clint feels a smidge bad about, mostly because Bucky is very good at batting those wintery blues when he wants to.  Clint doesn’t give in though, he really does agree with Natasha.

“Where is he now?”  Bucky asks without giving a yes or no.

Natasha already knows she’s won, “We lost him going around Freedom Tower a couple of times, for Mr. LeBeau’s anonymity.”  She’d chosen to shake him at Freedom Tower purely because of the name and who it was tailing them, aka for her own amusement.

“Much appreciated Ms. Romanov.”  Remy says behind them still in his pilot’s seat, he tips an imaginary hat.  Natasha flips and imaginary middle finger but Remy doesn’t know that, being imaginary and all.  Oil and water those two.  

“C’mon Buck are you a soldier or a, um,…”Clint squints trying to think of something with a little alliteration.

“Slouch?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“How about slacker?”

Natasha shakes her head again.

“Sidekick?” 

At the word Bucky crushes the cup in his hand involuntarily, hot coffee leaks all over his hand, he doesn’t seem to feel it.  Natasha and Clint wisely take a step away and don’t try to touch him, doing so is hard because instinctually they were pulled nearer—wanting to comfort someone they loved.  They don’t want to make him spiral more and Clint hates himself right now, because fuck him and his stupid mouth.  Bucky is too still the he rolls a shoulder probably working out another phantom pain, Clint relaxes.

“Sorry.”

“I am fine.”  Bucky says quickly, wanting to move on as fast as possible.   His words are too even though, he gives a defeated little shrug, “You can get a message to Rogers.”

“I already have.  He’s meeting us at the base.”  Natasha doesn’t even blink.

Clint cocks his head, “What you have his number or something?”

“Yes.  I have all the Avengers’ numbers.”

“When the hell did you do that?”

Natasha simply grins like she’s got the answer to life, the universe, and everything tucked away between the pages of one of her Cosmo magazines.  Of course she didn’t.  She did however have a few old Soviet launch-codes hidden away in a tampon box in her bathroom.  It was a whole “thing”.

Bucky turns so he can tap on Remy’s window, “We gotta make a pit stop.”

“Where to, cher?”  Remy replies easily.  Bucky notices not for the first time a faded word emblazoned on the tail of the chopper in cheap red paint yet still rendered with an unmistakable Remy flare, Gambit.  

“Looks like we gotta go to fuckin’ Jersey.”

Behind him Bucky hears Clint mumble with a certain mixture of disdain and acceptance as is the true New Yorker way, “Fuckin’ Jersey.”

 

Kate Bishop likes __Jersey.  The people are kind and tough, the weather was crap though, what she hates was the New Jersey Turnpike and being stuffed into a violet VW bug with the world’s most smart-mouth mercenary (which was a huge revelation because she once had a whole conversation with Bucky freaking Barnes) and a hacker who Kate was pretty sure was on like a government watch list or something.  All the government watch lists.  Anyway, the New Jersey turnpike was hell, however when the stars aligned rumor had it a person could use it to take I-95 to Washington D.C. in just over four hours.  Time was of the essence and Kate didn’t have as many favors to call-in as Clint so roadtrip it was.  Kate was always down for a roadtrip, especially when her friends needed her help.

“Is this really what the kids are listening to these day?”  Wade not-quite-whines with his head poking between the front two car seats.  Of course he sits in the back.  Now way Kate could have all that on her right for four hours.  She really liked that wierdo but she also really liked pistachios.  Kate scowls, the expression lost behind thick ray-bans, she had a point going there but she lost it.  Oh no.  She was turning into Clint Barton.  This was the worst day of her life.

“What’s wrong with Christina Perri?”  Skye shifts around in her seat in a complete one-eighty without having to unbuckle her seat belt.  Weirdly enough Wade was the one insisting they wear them.

“Oh nothing, unless you want to fucking cry, and it’s not Wednesday yet so that’s a no from me.”  Wade keeps his mask on no matter what.  It freaks Skye out but she’s been around enough deadly people to know not to ask.

Skye gives him a peculiar look, “I can’t tell when you’re kidding or not.”

Tone strangely serious Wade replies, “Me neither…got Nicki Minaj on that thing?  Love me some Nicki.”

“Really?”  

“She’s an American treasure.”

“You’re Canadian.”  Kate points out.

“As a tall warm glass of maple syrup, kitten, also so is the Wolverine but no one gives him shit about it.”

Stars bloom in Skye’s eyes, “You know the X-men!?”

“Storm electrocuted me once with lightning, does that count?”  Wade asks reaching a long arm between the two girls and grabbing Kate’s Starkphone.

“That’s so cool!”  Skye says then tones it down when the implications of being hit by lightning filter through her excitement, “Aaaand awful.”

“Ehhh, I’ve had worse.”  Wade comments off-hand while he busily goes through Kate’s playlist.  With some annoyance Kate notes he doesn’t seem pleased at what he finds there.  She could handle a lot, she’s freaking Hawkeye, she could not handle someone insulting her taste in music. She’s got great taste in music.

“All you have is itunes…”  Wade interrupts her thoughts.

Skye turns to her disbelief written all over her features, “You pay for music?”

“Yeah, so?”  Unlike most of the people in her line of work Kate came from a background of money.  Paying for anything really wasn’t a big deal, sometimes she forgot all the people she knew were criminals, which probably says something about them or her.

Skye snatched the Starkphone away from Wade and for a moment her thumbs are a blur of activity, “Not anymore you don’t.”  

She gives it back to Wade who is now uninhibited and quickly finds something worth listening to.  Which somehow, between wanting Nicki Minaj and not wanting any sad music, Wade settles on The Backstreet Boys.  Skye is delighted.  Kate reminds herself her friends need her. She adjusts her ray-bans, grips the wheel tighter, and floors the gas pedal because fuck the New Jersey Turnpike. 

 

Travel by helicopter was considerably faster and considerably more quiet when the hum of the machine blocked all ambient sound and made talking to anyone difficult.  Not that Bucky was in a talking mood anyway.  Natasha wasn’t sorry exactly for including Steve, she was being realistic something Bucky usually was too except his judgement was being clouded.  That had happened only once before, when a rogue Black Widow grabbed the arm of the Winter Soldier and said “I’m not leaving without you.” And he’d actually went despite the doubt in his eyes and the hesitation in his first steps he’d ran with her.  Bucky would forgive her, she knew, she also believed whatever was with him and Steve needed to be confronted—their running days were over. 

Natasha slips her hand over Bucky’s metal one, waits until he relaxes and slips her fingers between his.  They hold hands the entire ride and Clint falls asleep on his other shoulder, Bucky’s frown lessens a fraction.  Remy has them a mile away from the base in record time, Natasha wakes Clint up by flicking his nose until he jumps-to.  It’s night and the moment they are all out of the chopper Natasha receives a text from Steve.  He’s twenty minutes out, some pretty savvy driving.  She sends their coordinates and Clint goes off to scout ahead and find a good look-out positon.  Natasha, Bucky, and Steve would investigate the base together with Natasha on point and Bucky watching her six (and by vicinity Steve’s).

Sparse trees and spindly bushes separate Natasha and Bucky from the main gate of the base.  Clint reports back that the woods get a little thick before hitting a tall chain-link fence that wrapped around the entire camp complex.  He also reports the place is strangely well-kept.  Grass is cut, the main gate lock isn’t rusted and there are fresh treads in the gravel road leading up to it.  The place looks vacant otherwise and more than likely that’s on purpose, someone was definitely coming around.  The place was certainly being watched.  There was no way they won’t be seen when they go in, so this was going to have to be fast and Clint was going to have to keep a sharp eye out.  Now they just had to wait for the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.

Bucky was half way through the lyrics of 99 Problems when he hears the roar of a motorcycle engine approach from the North.  He blends into the shadows of the trees, Natasha does the opposite and stands clearly in view of the single round light of the motorcycle.  She blocks the light from her eyes  looking like a sloppy salute until the light is dimmed and Bucky can make out the easily recognizable silhouette of Steve Rogers, like a fucking Dorito on wheels.  Steve’s in civvies though he carries his shield on his arm defensively.  Good, he shouldn’t be so willing to go blindly into a hostile situation, wasn’t this guy supposed to be trained by the Army?

Steve kills the engine on the bike and nods to Natasha, “Black Widow.”

“Captain America.”  She retorts wryly. 

Steve glances around until he finds Bucky half tucked away in the dark and maybe for the first time he’s blank when he looks at him.  A veneer of calm.  Bucky doesn’t know if he prefers the indifference yet or not, it didn’t matter, they were on mission.  Job.  What the fuck ever.  They had Important Shit To Do. 

“I almost wasn’t sure of the coordinates.”  Steve says.

“The Avengers?”  Natasha asks before they move one inch together.

“On their way to D.C. I told Sam I’d catch up.”

“And he was okay with that?”

Steve shakes his head and gives an endearing little half-smile, “No.  But we trust each other, that’s what makes us a team.  I left you out, like you asked, so I’m trusting all of you now too.  Don’t make me regret it.”

“Likewise, Cap.”  Natasha says through a smile that was more akin to an animal bearing its teeth.

“Where’s your third guy?”  Steve asks eyeing the woods around them.

Over the comms Clint squawks, “The third guy, that’s all I am!  The third guy!?”

Bucky covers his responding smile with his hand that Steve see’s anyway, the blonde’s expression softens and it puts Bucky more at ease.  He decides to not dwell on why, “Hawkeye’s up top, best eyes in the business.  Anyone ever tell you you worry too much, Rogers?”

“Awww, Buck.”  Clint coos.

Steve smiles, “Not really.”  Yeah, Bucky could see that.  Captain America was a symbol of freedom and morality but Steve Rogers had “reckless” written all over him in big red, white, and blue letters.  He did agree to meet with the world’s deadliest assassins for “reasons” at a mysterious Army base from the forties.  What the fuck, Stevie?  Someone should have taught this guy better.

Bucky makes tsk noise, “Widow’s on point.  I’m on your right.  You ready?”  Somewhere, very far away inside him Bucky hears: …to follow Captain America into the jaws of death? His own voice answers: Hell no, that little guy from Brooklyn—I’m following him.  

Bucky swallows the pain that comes with the snips of conversation.  Practice is the only reason his face betrays nothing.  He pushes the fractal memories aside and lets his training take over not noticing whether not Steve was in fact ready.  Natasha rolled her hand in the universal sign to “move-out”, Bucky easily took his position following her lead with Steve next to him.  Steve wasn’t carrying any sort of gun, which was extremely irritating, he held the shield just so as if to throw it any second instead.  The Winter Soldier bristled, a gun would have been better.  Or at least a fucking knife.  Bucky was slowly becoming less worried about watching Steve because they didn’t trust him and more watching him to make sure he stayed alive.  For purely political reasons, the Avengers would be very unhappy if something happened to their golden son.  Boy, was he a good liar or what?

“Winter we got some activity coming your way eastbound.  One armed hostile.  Probably evil government security.  He’s got a buddy on the western side—not a priority.”  Clint states succinctly military. 

“Copy that.”  Natasha says, she flicks her wrist and Bucky surges forward, rifle raised to eye-level.

They go low to the ground, Steve imitates Natasha’s movements watching worriedly as Bucky moves through the brush without making a sound.  Bucky goes completely still a few yards from Tasha and Steve, through trees, brush, uneven terrain, and the shadow of night his bullet files heralded only by the soft whistling noise from the silencer connected to his rifle.  The noise was only audible to serum-enhanced ears, regular folk couldn’t hear a thing other than the resulting brutal splat.  Bucky had built the suppressor himself, he was pretty damned proud of it.

In his best Mortal Kombat voice Clint crows, “One shot, one kill, you win.”

Steve is right at Bucky’s side again , too loudly he accuses, “You just killed someone!?”  Guess that fully answered whether not Steve could hear their comms.  Goddamned supersoldiers…complains a goddamned supersoldier, Bucky hated irony.  

Mock-scandalized Bucky tilts his head, “Well, yeah…”  Like what was he gonna do?  Not shoot the Hydra agent?  That’s what Hydra agents were for, shootin’ at.

“You can’t just—”

“No.”  Natasha cuts Steve off before he can go full rant.

“What?”

“No.  We’re not doing this.  You questioning our methods, not happening.  Captain, if you don’t like that leave.  The Soldier knows when to make the shot.”  She was steel.  Steve matched her hard look, he wasn’t the type to back down, just wasn’t in his nature.

“He was Hydra.”  Bucky offers leaning his rifle against his shoulder with his finger casually hovering over the trigger.

“How do you know.  Places like this have to have cops come by every now and then, or its own civilian security.”

“Trust me, Stevie, I know Hydra.”  Bucky wields the nickname like a weapon, he hates the sour taste in his mouth when he does.

Steve blinks and considers him for too long to be comfortable, eventually he nods.  The time they wasted feel heavy between them, Natasha isn’t keen on losing anymore and has them moving double-time.  They slip in the base through the fence on their side, Bucky rips a whole through it for them.  First Natasha, then a still grim Steve, then Bucky who no matter what Clint says he saw was not checking out Captain America’s ass when he bent over.  He couldn’t help what was in his direct line of sight.  Shut up, Barton.

The base is quiet, wind blowing through the narrow spaces between buildings pick up dust and leaves from Autumns past.  Clint confirms for the moment it is indeed empty, the only other security from the other side of the base has slid off further down the way toward the road to the main gate.  Steve seems haunted, his eyes track things Bucky can’t see.  Lines on his face deepen making Steve look older than he technically is.  He notices the attention Bucky and Natasha are being none too subtle about and shakes off whatever ghosts haunt him.

Natasha doesn’t mention it and instead asks Steve, “These are coordinates the files originated from but other than that we really don’t know what we’re looking for.  Anything look odd to you?”

Steve inspects his surrounding critically then lands on an ammunition storage bunker and frowns, “Munitions weren’t kept that close to the barracks.  It wasn’t safe.”  Nothing like getting accidently blown up to make your recruitment numbers go down.

Natasha and Steve walk to the chained doors of the building, the lock was new Bucky tears it off before returning to his position behind them keeping a wary eye on all the places hostiles could jump out of.  Plenty of those buildings could be hiding any number of enemies, most of those same buildings had chained doors still Bucky was trained to account for every outcome and expect the worst.  No windows were thrown open with teams of black ninjas filing out when Natasha opens the door to the ammunitions building, only the squeal of hinges badly needing oil.  Bucky wasn’t sure what he was expecting, an office with rows of chunky desks holding typewriters that looked heavier than his fucking arm wasn’t it.  Further inside old yellow maps served has more than just decoration on the concrete walls and Spartan single bulb lamps hung from the ceiling.  

The three came upon three photographs displayed prominently on the back wall of the office area framed beneath an outdated S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle emblem.  They depicted a man with a mustache, a woman, and another older man in military dress.

“Friends of yours?”  Natasha asks Steve.

Pulling the name from the frozen tundra of his memory Bucky lifts his chin at the picture of the man with the mustache, “That’s Howard Stark.”  He says the name and it tastes like cigar smoke and good whiskey, feels a clap on the shoulder and someone saying lowly, “Good thing you always look like shit Sarge, otherwise you’d be too pretty.”

Natasha’s eyebrows quirk, “Who’s the woman?  She’s pretty.”

She’s gorgeous.  Her name is right at the tip of Bucky’s tongue ready to speak it, Agent Peggy Carter.  Peggy Fuckin’ Carter his mind supplies again with no small amount of reverence and something a little bit more bitter.  The way Steve looks at her photo keeps the name is his mouth, safe and secure like a secret.  Steve moves on without answering either which really, is all the answer Natasha needs.  The woman in the photo was important, personal, besides she knew Bucky would dump all the new memories on her later.  It was something they both did sometimes when a new memory surfaced for lack of anything else better to do with them or maybe there was just no one else around that would really understand.

Steve moves on from the photos drawn to a large bookcase with no particular significance.  He cants his head curiously and presses at something Bucky can’t see.  The bookcase hums then opens revealing an elevator, old but extremely high-tech for their surroundings.  They all regard each other in that universal, “okay, who wants to go into the shady as fuck place first” look.  Could be worse, could be a deep dark whole in the ground.  Bucky had been there, done that, sent a postcard home.

They get into the small elevator together.  This close Natasha can tell what kind of aftershave Rogers used and made a note to send him something nicer after the job was done.  Bucky didn’t mind apparently, but he was never very picky when it came to things like that.  She tried to train him better but there were just some things that wouldn’t take.  At least he didn’t cut his own hair anymore, now if only she could convince Clint to let her do his too.  The elevator doors whir open and the two men both let out a breath.  Natasha tries very hard not to smirk.  The urge is dampened when she gets a good look at the ancient computer that takes up every wall around them.  A main terminal is in the center propping up a few screens, there’s a modern USB port hardwired into it.  Trepidation swirled in her gut, unlocking keyholes like that generally lead to unpleasant things in her experience.  Bucky’s at her side, a soothing protective presence but she doesn’t fear for herself.  Natasha never did.  It was Bucky she feared for.  He was always the one to get the brunt of a blast, could be because he was always putting himself between it and the people around him.  Bucky would never admit it, but he had a protective streak almost as a long as his proclivity for violence.  It’s what made him a good teacher and ultimately was the reason they stopped having him train anyone else.

Crushing her fears, as was the Romanov way, Natasha connects the drive into the port.  The old computer comes to life, a green screen blinks on and asks in a digital voice, “Initiate system?”

“Y-E-S,” Natasha typed, “yes.”

All the screens activated as well as large blocky looking camera at the center console.  Then it started to speak.  The computer was talking.  Natasha evens her breath, this couldn’t be good.

“Romanov, Natalia Alianova.”  The computer recited in an accented voice directing its camera at her before moving on to Rogers and Bucky, “Rogers, Steven Grant.  Barnes, James Buchanan.”  The voice included their birthdates as well.  Their real birthdates.  She felt like she should raise a glass in memory of her anonymity.

Bucky takes a sharp breath, he’s staring at the ground gone pale and his eyes are wide and grey.  Something’s wrong.  He takes another breath but this one sounds like it’s a struggle  then he goes to one knee barely keeping himself from collapsing with his metal fist crushing the concrete below him.  Natasha moves carefully, this is bad, Bucky’s never regressed during a job before.  He knows when a bad day is coming as well as someone could see a storm on the horizon.  Trigger, he was triggered.

“James, status report.” Natasha crouches with him but doesn’t move any closer.  Steve hovers close but Natasha throws up a no-go signal.  Steve loves Bucky, Natasha doesn’t why or how that happened but he does.  It doesn’t mean anything right now but her mind can’t help processing all information she can.

Bucky’s face goes blank.  Not like when he’s covering up his emotions or when he’s focused but a truly terrifying blank that could only mean one thing.  Bucky Barnes had checked out, she was dealing with undiluted Winter Soldier.

“Soldier,” her tone hardens, “Status report.”

He looks up at her, and she hates it.  She hates it so much the emptiness she sees there, the nothing.  The Soldier says looking past her at the screens, “Arnim Zola.”

“Correct,” The computer sounds pleased, “It is good to see you, Sergeant Barnes.”

 

 

 

 

Tbc

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

**Chapter 13**

 

The Soldier is in the cryo-chamber, he could never understand how silence could be so loud, how such a small space could feel like a chasm when it should have felt like a coffin. The thawing process has begun and that always hurt worse than the flash freeze, it burned but he was shivering as his heart worked over time to pump his cold-thickened blood.  The window into the chamber has a face breathing heavily against the glass, not his own, the face smiles and looks at the soldier with pride.  Giddiness incarnate.  The Soldier thinks to himself one day he would very much like to crush that face into paste.

The Soldier never gets the chance.  Old age and illness take Arnim Zola, and the Soldier who knows nothing but orders and loyalty is _relieved_.  But Zola’s voice never leaves him.  Every time he went back into cryo he could hear that accented voice wrapping around him like a vice.  It never felt like Zola was dead.  Turns out the Soldier was right.

Shitty thing to be right about.

Zola isn’t the only voice in his head, it’s just the loudest.  Ice creeps up his spine immobilizing him, the softer voices are calling him.  The little spider speaks in Russian, Stevie speaks in frantic helpless tones of English, neither are really making much sense because the ice is spreading.  The spider leaves his side and then he’s taken up in big warm arms strong enough make his locked knees straighten.  He leans into the heat, the spicy light scent of a familiar aftershave fill his senses.  The Soldier latches on to that feeling and nothing else, the voices talk over him.  That’s fine.  He’s used to it.

The soldier focuses on the warmth of the other man, his deep voice huffing against his ear, frantic but the words are supposed to be soothing.  A deep voice that finally matches the body it’s in, now isn’t that an odd thing to think?  He remembers slighter shoulders to wrap himself around, the voice, the scent, those were the same.  That deep voice grew louder, Steve.  Behind Steve’s was Natasha’s, she’s asking questions directed at the mass of computer screens in front of them.  What she did best—gather intel.  They needed him.

They _needed_ him.

“Bucky?  Bucky, please answer me, please.”  Steve repeats over and over like he’s been out of commission for hours.  It’s been three minutes, the Soldier checks twice.  Losing time was not acceptable.

The Soldier…no, none of that.  James Buchanan Barnes.  His name was James Buchanan Barnes.  He was also the Winter Soldier, but that wasn’t _all_ he was.  Bucky shifts out of Steve’s grasp, rather grudgingly, his breathing still wasn’t regulated however he was a master at stowing his shit and Natasha was standing against Zola and no version of him would ever let her do that alone.

“You’re dead.”  Steve growls at Zola.  Steve knows Zola, why isn’t Bucky surprised?

“On the contrary, Captain, I have never been more alive.”

Bucky scoffs, whatever Zola is now “living” ain’t exactly it.

“How disappointing, Sergeant, it would seem your programing has deteriorated significantly.  No matter.  One can always be reset.”  Zola’s voice is tinted with an electronic edge all the more creepy given the digitized green hued “face” reflected on the monitors.

Bucky takes a deep breath then spits, “Eat shit and die you fucking prick.”  He sounds like he’s been gargling glass but the look of wry pride Natasha shoots him is entirely worth the effort.  Zola, or the computer programmed to imitate Zola didn’t have much to say to that, a fucking first in Bucky’s book.  That fucker loved to hear himself talk, must’ve been a Hydra thing.

Steve’s hands drift around Bucky’s shoulders before dropping to his sides, “Are you okay?”  Steve does the hovering thing a lot, Bucky is finding he minds less and less.

Bucky can’t really help the humorless little chuckle that bubbles out of his throat, because no, he was very much not okay.  This wasn’t the time or the place, never is for a goddamned _breakdown_.  Bucky squares his shoulders and stares into the soulless eyes of Zola, “Tell us about Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D., what are they planning?”

He deserves a fucking medal just for asking the question.

To Bucky’s surprise, Zola actually does tell them all about himself and Hydra.  He can barely keep up with his head buzzing uncomfortably, where he can’t quite pull himself together Natasha is razor sharp.  She knows exactly what “Operation Paperclip” is when Zola explains how the seeds of Hydra were planted.  The buzzing grows as Zola strips Bucky’s past to bare in front of Steve, it’s a disconcerting feeling seeing himself as a harbinger of change in the world under the heavy hand of Hydra.  The evil organization lost him before they could use Bucky to turn the cogs in their latest war machine.  That loss set them back a couple of decades but Hydra was a particularly insistent kind of devil.  They moved on and got their worst enemy to work for them while hiding behind a different coat of paint.  Soon enough they wouldn’t need Captain America or the Winter Soldier.  Super-soldiers would be obsolete in Hydra’s new world order.

Natasha gets Zola to reveal a little about an algorithm vital Hydra’s endgame before he moves on to tearing Steve apart. Zola is happy to do it, Bucky can tell, he can hear the notes of satisfaction in his voice as he tells Steve he died for nothing.  A failure in every way.  Steve’s fury is understandable, he puts his fist through the monitor obliterating Zola’s image and Bucky resists the urge to lash out.  At Steve mainly because Bucky is high-strung right now and violence makes him want to do some violence of his own, instead when the ghost in the machine moves to another monitor and starts yammering useless shit again Bucky empties an entire clip into it.  Which is just as well because Clint hails them over comms, his voice is half static—something was interfering with their communications.  Zola, Bucky realizes, is stalling.

“ _Widow…we got…coming in a mile and a half off…get the hell out of there now…you copy_?”

“We copy, Hawkeye.”  Natasha says looking to Bucky for an affirmative nod.

Despite not having a face, Zola’s voice still speaks coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, “Leaving so soon, Sergeant?  I would have thought you would have more personally pertinent inquiries. Perhaps you are concerned about what you’re Captain thinks of you now: the Fist of Hydra.”

Everything inside Bucky gets locked down, he stays silent and compliant to Steve’s hands as Steve tentatively cradles his face, “I don’t care, Buck, I don’t care.”  Steve’s eyes swim with questions.  He asks none of them.

Bucky nods, unsure why that matters so much to him it does.  He gets another flash of a frail blonde and ever so slowly who that blonde is clicks into place like an ammo clip into a gun.  Oh, he knew Steve Rogers.  He _knew_ him, from before the metal arm and endless bloodshed, from when they were both truly human.  A dam doesn’t break with memories ready to flood him, he only gets one piece but that piece is important maybe the most important thing that had ever mattered to him and it took so long to surface.  A face, a name, and a feeling of pure affection that made Bucky’s chest constrict.  He was still missing the whole picture and Bucky can’t help but to try and be critical about his feelings toward Steve.  More intel was needed, one random memory was not sufficient information to form a plan of action on.  _Feelings_ , God, what he needed was good punch in the face. 

“James, we have to go.”  Natasha says close by, Steve already knew his name and Tasha didn’t seem keen on referring to him as the Winter Soldier at the moment.  Probably a good instinct.  She jerks the flash drive out of the port and pockets it, the system doesn’t shut down but Zola isn’t talking anymore however Bucky gets the vague sensation the computer is…breathing?  And just when Bucky thought his nightmares couldn’t get any more fuel.

“Da.”  Bucky gives a halting nod, he doesn’t turn his head away from the room until they’ve gotten back into the elevator.

Just as the elevator door begin to slide closed Zola remarks in a low emotionless voice, “Goodnight, Sergeant Barnes.  Look to the skies for Sputnik before you sleep.”

The doors close, Bucky’s hands, both flesh and metal, begin to shake.   He feels _so_ heavy, his legs weak.  Latching on to more than one coherent thought gives him nothing but pain, so he lets himself be lead and that one thought he refuses to relinquish is _fight_.  Hard order when it’s yourself you’re fighting.  Lucky for Bucky, he has experience in exactly that.  He’s appalled at his own weakness mid-mission and angry enough to cage fight a bear.

 They’re quickly making their way through the old HQ, Natasha is side-eyeing Bucky the whole way.  Bucky knows he’s hiding his distress well though because Steve, while still obviously shaken by Zola, doesn’t realize Bucky is a step away from a very dangerous precipice.  Natasha kicks the doors open to the outside with full force.  Right outside is Clint, bow in hand, at the sight of him Bucky can’t help dropping to his knees.  He’s not safe but he’s with safe people and that was going to have be enough.

“What the fuck happened?”  Clint’s there at his side the moment Bucky starts retching.

Between gasps for air Bucky manages, “Trigger.”

Natasha pales, “Zola’s parting words.  I should have realized…I thought we got them all.”

“Me too.”  Bucky gasps again then proceeds to throw up the rest of the power bar he had earlier that day.  Natasha and Bucky had spent years going through Red Room files and mentally dissecting their own heads for any trigger words or phrases left over from their programming.  It had been a long awful processes that left more than a few bodies in its wake.  Bucky supposed things could be worse, it would seem “Sputnik” wasn’t a kill control but one meant to render him inert.  Fuck if he wasn’t resisting though.

Clint holds stray strands of Bucky’s hair back for him and gently pats his back, “Easy there, gorgeous.”

Bucky gives him a sort of choked-off laugh, “Do I look as pretty as I feel?”

Clint wolf whistles, “Prettier.  We got a mile dead-run.  Our ride’s down the way.”  Because LeBeau came in hot was without saying.  Clint doesn’t ask if Bucky could make it either, there was no choice in the matter.

Wiping off his mouth Bucky manages to stop impersonating a frat boy on his 21st birthday, “How long we got?”

“Ten minutes tops.”  Clint replies.  In the distance Bucky hears a distinctive crack echoed in the skies above them, Steve and Natasha tilt their heads at the sound too.  Nothing like the sound of a missile being fired in your general direction.

“Make that ten seconds, _run_!”  Natasha orders.

Steve slips his arm beneath Bucky’s metal one and hauls him to his feet with only minor grumbling on Bucky’s part.  Clint’s a little amazed by that, Bucky has never accepted help easily no matter the circumstances.  This night’s circumstances were extreme he supposed, okay, it looked bad but things could always get worse.  Clint considered that to be his life motto at his point, he was a sharpshooter—perspective is important.  They make super-soldier time through the woods, Clint trails behind Natasha and Bucky assisted by Steve.  More than once Steve takes all of Bucky’s weight and manages to go faster than even Natasha.  A loud boom resounds behind them, Clint can feel the heat of the explosion and doesn’t turn his head to look not wanting to risk losing a second over morbid curiosity.  Debris gets thrown their direction; something sharp hits the back of Clint’s head.  The flying shrapnel doesn’t slow the archer down, no, what nearly does him in a fucking tree root sticking out of the ground.  Clint’s foot catches the root and he trips but Natasha is suddenly right there preventing him from an embarrassing face-plant.  Clint didn’t think he could handle that in front of Captain freaking America.  Or Bucky, as struggling as his friend was there was no way he would ever let that go.

Natasha rolls her eyes pulling Clint up and forward.  They can smell fire but it’s not a threat to them anymore, the Hydra team behind definitely still is.  Clint follows Natasha while he yells directions to the chopper.  By the time Clint passes through the last line of thick brush Steve is already helping Bucky into the helicopter, Remy has the blades running ready to take off at a moment’s notice.  He’s a serious as Clint’s ever seen him.  Clint climbs in with Natasha and can’t afford to feel relieved.  Bucky doesn’t look good and when they get in the air Clint can see the extent of the damage, fire and rubble, black smoke plumed into the night sky settling into the air like rain clouds.

Bucky moves out of Steve’s reach in the confines of the chopper, he looks like he wants to and yet doesn’t.  Curious Clint signs to Natasha wanting to know what happened down in the bunker, the comms were going in and out the entire time.  Natasha gave him the Clifnotes version:  Arnim Zola was kinda still alive (well maybe not anymore), Hydra has been in S.H.I.E.L.D. since the beginning, he created an algorithm Hydra now possesses that is somehow going to enable them to rule the fucking world, Zola is a prick and used a very old trigger word on Bucky when stalling them for the Hydra team didn’t work.  All in all, a helluva night.  Oh, and Natasha wasn’t sure but she thinks Buck remembered something important about a certain Captain.  Clint would have to ask him about that later, when the kid _wasn’t_ trying to keep his lunch down or pass out.

Shame Zola didn’t have a real face anymore, Clint would’ve loved to put a whole quiver of arrows through it.  Bucky barely mentioned Zola since Clint had known him, whenever he did it wasn’t pleasant.  Of all the things and people to remember Clint wished Zola had stayed buried in Bucky’s subconscious.  More than that Clint wished whatever remnant of Zola that existed now had stayed dead.  The past never stays dead though, does it?

LeBeau drops them off in the middle of an overgrown cemetery twenty minutes on foot away from the heart of D.C.  By the time their feet are on solid ground the sky is bleeding pink around the edges and the air is warming up excited for the dawn.  Bucky’s tremors have calmed, he’s solid physically, mentally Clint could only hazard a guess based on the hard clench of Bucky’s jaw and the ashen pallor of his skin.  He’s glaring at literally everything, which was a good sign.

“We need to find out what Zola’s algorithm is for.”  Natasha says while she takes out her mobile and texts a message to someone.

“Alright,” Steve agrees, “suggestions?” 

Natasha waves her phone at chest level and grins, “Already taken care of.”  She takes off toward the road, Clint would guess to call a car.

“What exactly does that mean?”  Steve asks Clint and Bucky as a whole.

Bucky snorts, his voice is rough, “Don’t you trust us?”

Steve scowls, beneath his annoyance is a ripple of relief when Bucky snarks at him.  “You know, nothing good has ever happened after someone asks that question.”  

 

 

A violet VW Bug sticks out parked next to the basic black and white government cars outside the steps of Capitol Hill.  Kate Bishop sticks out too sitting alone at an outside café, purple aviators in place sipping the espresso she badly needs.  Half of that was the point, she needed to be seen by their target when the time came, otherwise was just the fact that a girl in a 70’s chic white dress and boots was going to stick out because as Wade says, “When you’re fly, you’re fly.”  He went on to rap about “being fly because you’re Hawkeye” that Kate would never admit was kinda catchy.  He had a chorus and everything.  Skye recorded it and if the song somehow becomes Kate’s ringtone in the future she knows exactly who to blame.

Skye’s been texting her nonstop since they arrived after Natasha passed along their instructions.  The girl is nervous, Kate can understand—she was nervous on her first kidnapping too.  Course Kate’s had been some lowlife mob guy not a high-ranking government official who looked to be currently getting real personal with some skeevy Senator out in the morning light of Washington.  Was that normal government official behavior?  All the weird touching?  Did that guy just whisper in that other guy’s ear?  Oh my god, this was so awkward.

Skye sends another text asking almost the same thing along with the affirmative for the phone call Kate had to make. Upside of having a hacker in their back pocket was neat phone tricks.  Kate dials Jasper Sitwell’s number.  When he picks up she smiles and opens with, “What’s up Kojack?”

“Who is this?”  Sitwell hisses likely confused why the voice of a young girl is calling him from his boss’s phone.

“You can call me Life Goals.  Turn to your left, I’m woman in the sweetest shades you’ve ever seen and the on-point hair.  No, your other left.  There ya go, hi!”  Kate waggles her fingers when Sitwell finally spots her.  She hardens her voice, “We need to talk.”

A red dot appears on Sitwell’s chest, then a second dot appears, then a third a fourth a fifth and a sixth all together forming the shape of a smiley face.  Kate smothers a smile of her own, thanks Wade.  Under threat of death Sitwell agrees to have that sit-down fireside chat.  Kate and Wade meet him on top of the roof of a medical building whose main floor was a dentist’s office, Skye’s idea of a threatening venue, the building was empty and tall enough to not attract attention from curious eyes around them.

Sitwell attentively opens the stairwell door, Kate can see his shoulders relax when he thinks she’s alone.  Even if she wasn’t alone she’d still a threat, not that guys like Sitwell would ever realize that.  At least not until it was too late.  Kate didn’t care she was underestimated by almost everyone, it made proving them wrong so much more worth it.  Wade drops in behind Sitwell landing quietly on the loose gravel spread on the roof.  Wade was tall, built, and carried around an arsenal the Winter Soldier could respect, Sitwell’s reaction to him was the opposite of his reaction to Kate.  Meaning he screams like a terrified five-year old and clutches his chest.  Skye laughs over the comms.  She’s is on the ground and out of sight, they wanted to keep her relatively unknown face out of it if possible but she made sure she could hear everything that’s going on.

“I don’t know what you people expect out of me—”  Sitwell starts.

“You know what?  Let’s just skip to the fun part.”  Wade interrupts him.  The merc grabs Sitwell by the shoulders and tosses him over the ledge of the roof catching his ankles before he can fall to a very messy end.

The scream Sitwell lets out puts his prior terror to shame.

“The more you flail around like that the easier you’re making it to make it to drop ya.”  Wade says brightly.

Kate saunters up to the ledge and leans over, “You answer our questions and my buddy here doesn’t do that, sound good?”

Wade smiles, it’s hard to tell with the mask but Kate has learned to identify the way the fabric stretches over his face, “Aw, we’re buddies?”

She shrugs, “Kinda?”

Over comms Skye assures, “We’re _totally_ buddies, Wade.”

“God, please, yes, yes, just bring me up!  Bring me up!”  Sitwell is an unattractive shade of green when Wade pulls him back up over the edge. 

Kate figures the guy has it coming, since, hello Hydra.  Natasha told her about the Lemurian Star and Sitwell was one of the very important people on the satellite launch ship, more or less guarding sensitive S.H.I.E.L.D. intel that had lead them to the whole Hydra is S.H.I.E.L.D. horribleness.  Simple addition dictated Sitwell knew a lot more than just his boss’s usual Starbucks order, she was willing to bet he also knew who was holding the information on Natasha and Bucky.  Which was just so dumb on so many levels, of all the people in the world to threaten they had to be at the top of the list of the one’s you should definitely not do that to.  Fortunately for Kate, guys like Sitwell _always_ talked.

 

 

At the same moment Jasper Sitwell spills his guts about Zola’s algorithm and how it allow Project Insight to preemptively eliminate all threats to Hydra, Agent Maria Hill is about to leave her apartment in D.C. to her job at the Triskelion which on any given day could mean multiple things.  Maria was ready for every single one.  That was also a part of the job.  Loki appearing at her front door in a three piece suit and a steaming cup of her favorite tea, Earl Grey with honey, was very low on her list of things to expect in her day to day, however it’s not completely unexpected.  In a faraway feeling she was aware she’s been working for the trickster god because of the staff he wields, but that never really seemed important.  Magic was weird…and annoying.

“Sir.”  Maria nods and accepts the offered tea.

“Agent Hill.”

“Couldn’t you just appear in a puff of smoke or something?  A mirror?”  She sips the tea, irritatingly it’s the perfect temperature.

“I assumed you would appreciate a more humble approach.  Was I wrong?”

“No, I expected you sooner, or later.  Your plan with the Avengers fell apart so you can understand my confusion when you just left the pieces where they lay.”  Maria moves out of the door way to let Loki in.  Humble didn’t describe Loki, definitely not in that sharkskin suit he was sporting.

Loki grins, shark-like to match his suit, “Is that what I did?”

“Sir?”  Maria says the word in a way that implies “you can make sense anytime now asshole”.   Loki apparently liked that about her.  He’d said “respected”, but it was more like something about Maria reminded Loki of himself.  And Loki loved no one more than himself so he didn’t order Maria to keep aspects of her personality private.

“It shall all fit together in the end, Agent Hill.”  Loki looks her in the eyes every time they speak, he does with everyone he gives orders to.  She speculates the gesture is meant to convey honesty, odd considering Loki doesn’t need to.  Magic staff.  Must be habitual, the marker of a grand liar.

“And what about right now?”

“Right now, I need you to make sure the Avengers get everything they need.  The assassins are nearly finished on their end, soon Hydra will no longer be a threat.  Then we can focus on the true threat.” 

“I’ll be on them personally.  And sir, you’re certain?”

Loki leans back and regards her, “About?”

“The true threat? Thanos, sir.”

“Oh, quite.  He will bear down upon this world sooner than you’d think.  Tawdry powers like Hydra are nothing to the destruction he will bring.”

Maria downs the tea quickly, “Destruction to you or the world?”

“Both…though I’d certainly prefer one of those over the other.” He grins, “Guess which one?”

Maria doesn’t guess.  She holsters her weapon and goes to work.  When she shuts her front door behind her Loki is already gone.

 

 

 

_tbc_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there Loki is. With his shady-ass magic. And Maria who is also shady but she's like the Queen of Shade for so many reasons. My Maria will be a little bit MCU Hill and a whole lot of Secret Avengers Hill.


	14. Chapter 14

 

**Chapter 14**

 

 

Natasha wasn’t surprised.  Not to say she didn’t get surprised, it happened, it was rare but it happened, no one could ever tell though.  Right now, no, she wasn’t surprised.  Kate had sent along the information they needed about Zola’s algorithm which was a formula to extrapolate data about Hydra’s current, future, and any possible enemies that could exist then Hydra could program those names into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Insight helicarriers and proceed to wipe them out all at once using the greatest weapons system ever created.  The gun S.H.I.E.L.D. built to protect the world was being turned against it.  Steve had some strong opinions on the matter, Natasha agreed with him on all of them.  Getting along with Rogers was not what Natasha wasn’t surprised about, she wasn’t surprised when Kate also reported in a large block of text that Sitwell was dead and it was in no way her fault but it _was_ an accident, Hydra agents were apparently fragile especially when pushed off a building for being an asshole.  Deadpool thought Kate had a trick arrow to stop his fall like Clint usually carried around with him.  She did.  Sometimes, only when Kate thought a grappling arrow or two was necessary.  Not that it would have mattered, physics didn’t work that way. 

_Fuck_ , Wade.  He had stolen Kate’s phone long enough to send a picture of himself looking apologetic, his mask was weirdly emotive.  Natasha wasn’t surprised and she wasn’t really angry either, when professional killers were involved someone was bound to end up…well, _killed_.

At least they got the most pertinent information out of Sitwell, now they knew what the necessary next step was going to be.  One fact verified was one Natasha suspected since her research into the Lemurian Star but back then had nothing but a hunch to go on and Natasha _needed intel_ before making a move or pointing a finger.

Secretary Alexander Pierce was the head of Hydra, Sitwell confirmed it while resigned to a rock and hard place.  He was also S.H.I.E.L.D.’s rep on the World Security Council.  Natasha felt kind of…giddy?  They had a face, a name, and place.  The holy trinity of a hit, everything one needed to complete a job and get paid.  Funny, the only person who paid them so far was A.P., Alexander Peirce, he wasn’t going to live to regret that.  Steve had a plan, so did Natasha.  For the moment she would let Rogers take lead but she already had Kate and company on the second part of their assignment.  Meanwhile Natasha had to get her boys and Captain America to a secret rendezvous point with the Avengers without getting the attention of Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. onto them.  Their eyes were everywhere and all channels Natasha had available to her were screaming about the target on Cap’s back, Pierce was feeding S.H.I.E.L.D. lies implicating Rogers in Nick Fury’s assassination.  Or at the very least withholding information about the shooting, which Natasha had to give it to Pierce, was technically true.  It was easy to lead conclusions from facts without context, classic spy games.  Peirce wasn’t a spy, he was a politician but a politician’s lying skills could be on par with a spy’s depending upon on how high or low one went on the importance latter they dangled their secrets from.

Natasha passes her phone to Bucky sitting in the back seat next to Clint in their commandeered Jeep.  He stares at the picture of Secretary Pierce memorizing every detail of his face and stature with the Winter Soldier’s cold singular focus.  He passes it back wordlessly then continues to bore holes in the back of Roger’s head with intensity of his gaze.  Rogers, who is driving since the Avengers would only give the coordinates to their Captain, doesn’t seem to notice.  He doesn’t appear uneasy at having the deadliest killer on the planet at his back either.  Rogers was more careful before but apparently surviving explosions together bred trust in him.  Bucky on the other hand was looking like he was figuring out all the ways to kill Rogers without crashing the car.  Which really didn’t mean anything; he just did that automatically to everyone.  All the time.  These days it was like a relaxation technique, of course it didn’t use to be.  Nothing was as it used to be, for better or worse.

“Feet off the dash.”  Steve says glancing over to Natasha.  Her feet were indeed propped up in a vision of nonchalance.  Bucky makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat but Natasha only smiles and slowly extracts her legs graceful as her codenamed implied.

Amused that Rogers would steal a car but then have hang-ups like that makes Natasha ask, “Where did Captain America learn to hotwire a car?”

“Nazi Germany.”  Rogers replies with a smirk and despite herself a little Natasha was starting to like him.  Sort of, once you got past the flag he was hiding behind the soldier left standing, the trouble-attracting man, he wasn’t so bad.  Rogers was more like them than he would like to admit—a trained weapon and an asshole. A good foundation as any for a friendship, she didn’t have a whole lot of experience in that field but it seemed pretty solid to her.

Then there was the way Bucky looked at Steve when he thought no one was paying attention, he should know by now that Natasha was _always_ paying attention.  Attraction, sure, that was easy to understand.  Steve checked a lot of boxes for a lot of people and Bucky was never too picky when it came to his choice of sexual partner.  Gender didn’t matter with him nor did a particular body type, with Steve it was obviously different and that had Natasha’s hackles rising a bit because Steve was so earnestly caring for Bucky and it was based on feelings and memories Bucky didn’t have.  Bucky didn’t quite remember, until he did Natasha wasn’t going to be okay with Rogers splashing his emotions around on him, until Bucky knew for certain what he wanted and more importantly _why_ he wanted it.  Overprotective?  Not to Natasha, not when they went through hell together.  For now all the longing looks and awkwardness was _hilarious._ Bucky glances over sensing the teasing smile playing on Natasha’s lips, she grins wider at him and he honest-to-god blushes.  He turns his attention to Clint and refuses to look back at Rogers the rest of the ride, the child.  Natasha had to admit, it was all very cute and if her stealthy ribbing takes Bucky’s mind off Zola even the smallest amount then all the better.

 Bucky’s less pale now too, he’s stopped shaking, and all around more present, he snatches Clint’s mobile away from him because the archer is playing Angry Birds and Bucky says that’s so much of a cliché he was going to gag.  He doesn’t give Natasha anymore blackmail fuel either, much to her disappointment and she doesn’t get the opportunity to bait him either.  Rogers pulls down a gravel road into what looked to be a part of the Potomac River dam and water treatment facility except for it was late morning and there were no workers.  Natasha knew a safe “house” when she saw one.  She counted the security cameras and automated defenses in one glance, it was a very fancy safehouse.  S.H.I.E.L.D. bought it was not, didn’t have that shiny feel all their other places had even with the turrets.  No, this was old school real spy stuff.  She loved old school, she missed it.  No one appreciated the spy game anymore.  Pining for the Cold War wouldn’t help her now.  Besides if Bucky knew where her thoughts lie he would throw a heavy object at her and holler something about “rationing” and how “the Kremlin was impossible to secure under those conditions, Natalia.”  She was going to have to tell Rogers to ask Bucky about Soviet-era powdered milk sometime.

“Oh great,” Clint sighs just as Rogers pulls the stolen Jeep near a heavy black and yellow marked door, “More big secret concrete buildings.  And this one looks damp.  Joy.”

“You were in a fuckin’ tree at the last one, shut up.”  Bucky grumbles clearly eyeing the place with suspicion.

Rogers says in what he must believe is a reassuring tone, “We’re safe here.”

Safety was a unicorn to Natasha Romanov, that probably made Rogers the virgin in that analogy.  She presses her lips into a thin a line and probably looks unimpressed with their new HQ, reality was she was trying not to laugh at the mental image of Captain America in a white flower crown strolling in on a unicorn.  They all needed some sleep, at least a couple of hours, even with the serum flowing through them going has hard as they’ve been was bound to take a toll at an inconvenient time.  Also Natasha got kind of weird when she was too tired, at Lehigh she’d barely contained a War Games reference inside the bunker.  It was right there on the tip of her tongue too, would’ve landed so well…so many missed opportunities.

Rogers ruffles at all their critical gazes, he sighs, “Must be a hard way to live you all have.”  Always vigilant, always untrusting.

Natasha tilts her head and regards him coolly, “Good way not to die though.”

Rogers doesn’t have a worthy response to that startling streak of honesty.

“You want me to go in first?”  He eventually asks.

“Shield up too if you’d be so kind.”  Clint drawls.

Rogers gives them all a flat look, “ _Right_.”  He hefts the gleaming disk like a battering ram and squares his shoulders ready for a battle, then he raises his other hand and very _gently_ knocks on the door.  His expression doesn’t twitch a muscle.

Bucky shakes his head, “Punk.”

Rogers grins brightly back, inordinately pleased over the insult, “Jerk.” 

The ends of Bucky’s mouth curl in the shadow of amusement and something else more personal.  It vanishes the moment the heavy door swings open revealing a short and soft middle aged man in a suit, Steve looks at the man like the emotion draining from Bucky’s face was personally the man’s fault.  The little man withers from the glare but then seems to bounce back fairly quickly marking him as someone used to dealing with grumpy superheroes.  Interesting.  Natasha notes the hobbit man’s name and face filing it away for later.

“This way, folks!”  Hobbit man cheerily leads them down a long corridor, Clint was right about the inherent dampness of the place.  The river just outside didn’t help matters much.

Cold clung to the walls, Natasha and Bucky barely registered it but Clint drifted closer to them seeking out their natural heat.  The deeper they went the colder it got and even Bucky was starting to show more tension than usual, he didn’t mind cold but cold enclosed spaces didn’t bring up any good memories.  Neither Clint nor Natasha had seen the cryo process first hand, only snippets in old brittle files, it was enough to fill the both of them with horror and the urge to always wrap Bucky in the thickest blanket they could find if he even so much as sneezed.  They never did of course, Natasha doesn’t coddle.  Not in such an extrovert way at any rate.  Clint was more of the type to slide some Nyquil over and hoped that fixed the problem.  Clint pretty much treated every illness with Nyquil since his medical skills never evolved past a college student’s. 

Abruptly the space widened into a part of the facility that was all dank open air, blocky beams, and loading docks.  In the middle of it was a metal table hosting most of the more well-known superhero population of New York like this was the Council of Elrond as well as two new faces Natasha was going to have to pretend she didn’t recognize.  It would be easy to act surprised, especially since one of them was supposed to be dead.

Nick Fury sat at the head of the table, face an unimpressed blank, with gauze wrapped around his torso in stark rebellion to the rumors of his demise.  Maria Hill sat to his right and a doctor fretted nearby while the Avengers were varying degrees of relieved that their Captain was back.  Adorable.  The only one missing was Thor, when asked where the thunder god was the Avengers pointed up saying he was too wary of Loki to not be in the skies watching over them.

“Good to see you in one piece, Cap.”  Sam slapped his hand on Roger’s shoulder and smiled.

Rogers huffed out a laugh, “Thanks, it was a near thing.”

“It was?  You should have called, man.”

“Yeah, Hydra, but um,” Rogers glanced to the assassins at his back, “we had it covered.”  Sam raised an eyebrow seeming unconceived of that, despite his reservations Sam chooses to make an affirmative sound and flops back down in his rickety metal chair.

“In other news,” Pietro pipes up clearly unhappy at being lied to, “Fury is not so dead.”  His sharp blue eyes are not afraid to outright glare at Fury.

“Cool it, kid, he had his reasons.”  Rhodes says in a very reasonable and calm voice which obviously makes the speedster glare even harder. 

Rhodes and Tony are in full armor, in fact all the Avengers are in full gear except for Rogers.  The Captain was looking worse for wear in his civvies, the clothes were made for him considering they weren’t in tatters from their activity however they were covered in soot that refused to be dusted off and the bottoms of his jeans were starting to fray.  Natasha wasn’t the only one to notice.

Wordlessly Stark kicks a case across the floor, Captain America’s shield emblazoned in silver on the side of it.  Natasha could hazard a guess what was inside.  Rogers gave him a grateful nod then turned his attention to Fury, “How long?”  His voice was hard, unforgiving.  Like Pietro, Cap was sick and tired of being lied to.  There was a chance they were in the wrong business.

“You’re going to have to be clear, Captain Rogers.”  Fury is impassive.  Legendary cool perfectly in control in front of the nation’s greatest icon, Natasha sees the tired lines around his eyes and wants to tell Rogers that legendary didn’t mean infallible.

“You know what I’m talking about.  You knew that information was on the Lemurian Star.”

“I _suspected_ ,” Fury says, “And you see were that got me.”

Pietro hisses, “ _Not_ dead?”  Tony and Clint look like that want to laugh, they don’t.  Wanda reaches for her brother’s hand and murmurs something only he can hear.  The speedster calms a fraction, enough to sit next to his sister and seethe silently.

“You suspected and you said nothing.”  Steve points out.

“I didn’t know about Hydra and Pierce…or your friends there.”  Suddenly all the room’s attention was on Natasha, Bucky, and Clint—just when they thought they were over this.  Natasha meets the room with confidence, Clint with steel, Bucky just doesn’t give a shit and is wiping a particularly stubborn smudge off his metal arm with more concern than he spares the room.

Since she had an audience anyway Natasha asks Fury herself, “Do you know who took the shot, a guy with your reputation I wouldn’t think would be so easy to take down.  Had to have taken a skilled operative.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”  Fury glowers.  Natasha shrugs and his eye narrows, “You know about my reputation, I know about yours too.  All three of you have been on my radar for some time.”

“Well yeah,” Clint says, “I sent a recruiter from you guys packing years ago.” 

Fury sits back, “I don’t recall sending anyone to take any of you in.  Hawkeye, Black Widow, and the Winter Soldier, would’ve turned the tide in a lot of conflicts however you were deemed too hostile, volatile, too great a risk.”

Clint shakes his head, “Yes you did, I mean we were definitely more hostile back then but S.H.I.E.L.D. contacted us.”

Bucky smirks, it a mean little twist of lips, “Tricky motherfuckers.”

Rogers frowns, “Soldier?”

“Hydra.”  Bucky clarifies, “Two sides same coin, remember?  They were trying to bag and tag us.”

Natasha felt sick, “Bozhe moi.”

“The men who…gave us our powers,”  Wanda says, “They also said they were S.H.I.E.L.D., we figured out too late they were not who they said they were.”

Tony snapped his fingers, “And we didn’t figure out how Von Strucker got ahold of Loki’s staff, they must have been Hydra.”  The twins shrink in on themselves upon this new realization.

Disgusted, no, wrathful Rogers says, “The government, S.H.I.E.L.D., this goes deep.  We gotta tear it all down.  It’s the only way to be sure.”  That would require leaking all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files,  Natasha was down for that.

Fury gives a single long nod, “Alright, I’ll reach out to our fringe contacts, we may be able to salvage—”

“No, Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D., it all goes.”  Rogers jaw clenches and he stares Fury down. 

Fury actually looks hurt, S.H.I.E.L.D. was his whole life and here it was in ruins.  Regimes fall, Natasha knows, its time these people learned that too.  Banners and logos didn’t matter.  The people would be what are left and they were the only part that mattered.  Fury glances to the quiet, sharp-eyed, woman on his right.   Maria gives him a sympathetic look but she nods, resolute, and Fury sags.  There’s no question to where the Avengers stand, behind their Captain—always.  A team could stand when an organization crumbled.

Fury settles, “Looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.” Natasha prefers Steve Rogers over S.H.I.E.L.D. any day, the sentiment was shared.

 “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Cap.”  Rhodes says, “I’m with the Widow though—what about the shooter, Hydra, right?”

“Or Loki,” Stark reminds them all, “he’s apparently not above assassins.”  Stark props a big mechanical foot up on the table and gives Clint a side-long glance.

“Aw, c’mon. That wasn’t even—”

“Not blaming you, Barton, just saying.” Stark grins impishly. 

Clint tenses at the use of his name, “You know who we are?”

“Nope,” Stark admits, “Just you, Katniss.  Word of advice: the whole trademark bow and arrow thing is not at all subtle.  Big Red Peril and Lil’ Red Peril over there however are nothing but black holes in the fabric of the intelligence community, at least the part of that community willing to sell their information.  Unsurprisingly not a lot were willing to even talk about the two of you even in the most abstract sense.  Closest I got was this seventy-year woman in the Ukraine who supposedly had some sort of photo, but when I tried to talk to her she screamed at me and hung up.  It was a stressful experience.”

“I’ll bet.”  Natasha draws closer to him in careful feline steps.  Stark is openly enthralled, the man had an obvious danger kink, that kind of thing made one easy prey.  She leans in aware of the tense atmosphere she’s creating just by being near, “Curiosity, Mr. Stark.”  The rest of the saying Natasha allows to hang there in the air.

Delighted and just the slightest bit worried around his big brown eyes, “Was that a threat, are you threatening me?  You guys heard that right?”  Stark gives Rhodes a hurt expression when he doesn’t come to his aid and instead shrugs, they’re the type of friends that can have a whole conversation without words and at the end of their exchange of minute micro expressions and eyerolls Rhodes comes out the winner.

“Leave it alone, Tony.”  Steve orders in a way that sounds like he says those words a lot.

Stark holds his hands up in mock surrender and more or less latches on to Rhodes’ question, “Well, not counting the obvious culprits in the room, no offense, who in Hydra slash S.H.I.E.L.D. has the skills to ya know, _bang bang_ the big guy?”

“Phrasing.”  Clint snickers under his breath.  Bucky cracks a smile too.  _Boys_.

Natasha didn’t believe the shooter was Hydra, the shot was too good.  According to Rogers after some serious finagling Fury was shot after a failed road “accident”, inside Rogers’ D.C. apartment.  A killing wound and if Fury hadn’t been the shadiest motherfucker on the planet, as Bucky would put it, he would be dead.  Stark was right, half of the people on the short list were in the room.  There was always Laura, she was trying to stay low though and she was always the up-close and personal type of operator.  There was Elektra…who Natasha didn’t really like, respected like hell, she just didn’t…like her that much.  At all really.  A psychologist would probably have something to say about similarities and self-loathing right before Natasha tranquilized them.  Elektra had a signature style as well however she took unsavory contracts all the time and she also would do whatever the client specified.  If they wanted a shooter she could be a shooter.

“Brock Rumlow,” Steve says interrupting Natasha’s thoughts, “He’s a skilled soldier, lead Strike Team Alpha, and he disappeared right after Nick ‘died’.  I saw him on the range during training, he could definitely make the shot.”  The irony of that statement was not lost on Natasha.

“You think he could have been Hydra?”  Sam asks.

Rogers shrugs, “He was kind of a dick so…”

Bucky scrunches up his face, “Ehhh, no.  I mean, yeah, total dick, but no he wasn’t involved.”

“Okay, how do you know that?”

“Um.”

“Take our word on it,” Natasha picks up for Bucky while Clint signs to him asking what the hell happened to Rumlow, “We ran in the same circles.  He’s officially retired, working on his skin tone as we speak.”  Currently below the streets of NYC Brock Rumlow’s skin tone was turning a greenish yellow, so technically, not a lie.  Bucks signs back to Clint not to worry about it.  Clint’s worried about it by default completely because Bucky is the one saying not to worry.

“The Insight Carriers are a more pressing issue, are they not?”  Pietro asks his accent making his inquiry harsher.  The young man appears to be about to vibrate out of his skin.

“Brother.”  Wanda admonishes.

Natasha shrugs, “He’s not wrong.  I’m going to assume the Avengers can handle a few aircraft and switch out the targeting programming with an alternative in no time at all, should be a piece of cake for you guys.  Right?”  She raises a finely curved eyebrow managing to look both appraising and challenging at the same time.

Maria Hill answered for them, “We have the replacement crystal modules, they just need to be manually replaced in carriers one, two, and three.  The targeting systems will go after each other rather than the list Hydra created.”  She places a sleek case on the table and spins it around so they can all get a good look at the contents.  The modules look like giant green microchips, high tech and fragile.  Hill got those together fast, Natasha thinks, they _did_ have the resources though and Natasha shakes the odd feeling she gets from the other woman.

“Are you not coming with us then, when this all goes down?”  Sam eyes them.

“Oh, you know.”  Clint waves his hand vaguely, “you do your thing, we’ll do ours.”

Rogers damn near panics, “You’re leaving, _again_?”  He takes an automatic step toward Bucky, surprisingly Bucky doesn’t flinch back though he does lean away a little, “I wanted you to be close.”

Stark smirks behind an armored hand, “ _Phrasing_.”

“We will be close,” Natasha assures, “In the Triskelion.  We’ll find out about the shooter when we can, we’ll help from the inside just worry about the helicarriers.  There’s an army of Hydra out there.  You’ll need us.”

“We cannot put our trust in many,” Wanda speaks softly, “but they are true to their word.  More or less.” 

“Okay, Stevie Nicks, that does not help our weird alliance thing we got going on here.”  Stark snaps with no real heat.  His annoyance melts into an apology the moment he really looks at Wanda, he really likes the girl.  There’s guilt there too, it’s hidden well, just like most things about Tony Stark.  Natasha doesn’t find much mystery in him

“You don’t really have a choice, doll.”  Bucky smiles all charm and Brooklyn swagger that puts a flush on Steve’s cheeks and a responding satisfied grin on Tony’s.  Clint silently gags in the background.

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”  With that Natasha ushers her boys out with a single nod toward the exit.  She slides past Steve pickpocketing the Jeep keys, “We’re taking the car too.”

“This is how almost every one of my break-ups ended.”  Tony says.

Rhodes can’t help but to point out,“ _I_ took an Iron Man suit.”

“That you did but to be fair I let you.”

“Oh, is that how you remember it?”

“That’s how I remember it because that’s how it happened.”

No one tries to stop them, no one presses for more information out of them and the only thing that really makes an impact on their way out is the sad look on Steve’s face and the calculating narrow of Fury’s single eye.  Natasha is already running the numbers is her head, what’s it gonna take to scrub their presence off the grid again now that so many people knew their faces?  A lot of money.  Good thing Pierce had a lot of money, he wasn’t going to be missing it in the future.

The hobbit man shows them out polite as can be, Natasha makes use of her light fingers one more time and grabs his lanyard when he opens the door, Bucky steps in pretty close to distract him.  Bucky can be all kinds of distracting depending on how nervous a target was or what they were “in” to.  Pleasant hobbit man is wisely more distracted by Bucky flipping a knife casually while he was walking by than his pretty eyes.  Natasha figures the little guy won’t notice until they’re back down the road. She slides the lanyard into a pocket hidden in the back of her tac suit.  All done for the sake of “just in case”, that was another way they’d stayed alive for so long.

In the Jeep Natasha, Bucky, and Clint deflated in millimeters, clouds had gathered outside and it had started to rain, the pitter-patter of rain drops on the roof of the vehicle was the only sound for a few peaceful seconds.  No front to keep up, no Captain America to worry about, only each other the way it had been for so many years.

Clint breaks the silence, “We are in so much shit.”

Bucky grunts in agreement then accepts the keys when Natasha tosses them over.  There was indeed a lot of shit to navigate, they could do it.  All they needed to do was stick to the plan, let the Avengers pull off the hard part and be ready to vanish in the smoke of the aftermath.

“Kate and Skye should be almost done with their end now, Wilson’s watching their backs.”  Natasha says putting her feet on the dash.  Bucky doesn’t say a word about it.

“Guess that means Bucky is gonna have to polish the ol’ sniper rifle off.”  Clint wouldn’t be the one up in the vital nest this time, he was fine with that. Bucky wasn’t going to let anyone else take his mark away from him.

Bucky squints catching Clint’s line of sight in the rearview mirror.

It takes Natasha approximately six seconds to blandly quip, “… _Phrasing_.”

 

 

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even in death “Brock Rumlow is a dick” lives on. As the gods intended. Put it on a bumper sticker. Also I love Elektra, she’s not on the books for an appearance though. But if we’re talking world’s greatest assassins here I couldn’t not mention her. The next chapter will be probably the longest so far, I don’t know how many chapters this thing will have but I can tell you guys we’re just over halfway done.  
> As always thank you all for your interest, kudos, comments, and love for this little story.  
> (I feel like I should have “irritating amount of lotr references” as a tag???I would ask for forgiveness but listen, these kids are fuckin’ nerds.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 

“ _I love it when you call me Big Pop-pa, throw your hands in the air, if youse a true playaaaaa_!”

“Barton, you sound like Deadpool’s been rubbing off on you.”

“Phras—”

“Phrasing is done, I’m killing it right here right now.”

“Aw, _Tasha_.”

“I get that you’re nervous.”

“Nervous isn’t the word I’d use.  Stressed maybe because there’s a World Security Council Lady…Council Person? Councilwoman, tied up in our trunk, can she breathe okay back there?  Should I stop and poke a few holes?”  Clint keeps glancing at the side mirror on the driver’s side of the limo.  He wouldn’t be surprised if the trunk popped open and the woman back-flipped out with a lightsaber.  Nothing was what it seemed lately and Clint was never one to underestimate a woman.

Natasha rustles around the back seat a second before responding, “She’s _fine_.  I know her type, she’s tough.  James will be fine too.”

Clint’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, “I know.”

“Sure you do.”

Under his breath Clint continues his off-key singing, “ _If you got a gun up in your waist please don’t shoot up the place_ … Get it Tash?  Irony.”

“Please just drive.”

“These fancy-ass limos are hard to maneuver in D.C. traffic, ya know.”  They weren’t low-key either however it was D.C. and the populace as well as other drivers were desensitized to important looking cars bullying their way through rush hour.

“Oh? Would you rather wear the holographic face mesh and heels and put this lens in your eyeball?”

Clint cringes, “…No?”

“Take a right here, and put the hat on, pull it low. Hydra is going to be watching this car, if the original agents at the air field were supposed to call in we’re already more suspicious.”  The Hydra agents sent to pick up Lady Councilperson/woman wouldn’t be doing anything but playing stuff the pineapple in the afterlife—as was the fate of all Hydra agents in death, at least that’s what Clint liked to believe.  He wasn’t the torture type so he sort of topped out at the pineapple—which Clint already thought were pretty horrifying by themselves.  Prickly, over-priced hell fruit.

Clint grabs the driver’s hat tossed in the seat next to him and pulls it low down on his ears, it’s a little tight and the ends of his blonde hair stick out underneath it at odd angles but his face is mostly obscured.  He was still a little scruffy but with the jacket Clint was passable.  If he fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves it’s because they’re uncomfortable not because he’s nervous, professionals didn’t get nervous, even when they were dropping their best friend into a hornets nest wherein everyone inside would try to kill her and his other best friend was gearing up to take a shot that would until the world knew otherwise was going make him public enemy number one.  Nervous was not the emotion thrumming in his veins right now.  He had the utmost confidence in Natasha and Bucky.

The utmost confidence.

Utmost.  That was definitely not a word nervous people used.

Natasha put on her grey wig and looked to Clint in the rearview mirror, he gives her a thumbs up when he sees not a hair is out of place then she tests the face mesh.  The mesh wavers over her face like the rainbow gloss of a bubble before shuttering into the Councilwoman’s face by degrees.

The face of the Councilwoman grins at him bordering on sultry, “I am still sexy?”  The voice that comes out of Natasha is that of an elderly prim Englishwoman.  Clint is inexplicably reminded of his first grade teacher in Iowa who was neither English nor all that old. She had been, if memory served, also really really mean.

“You know, I’m not that big of fan of role-play.”

“You’re so vanilla, Clint.”

“And I’m okay with that.”  Great, now his first grade teacher was almost associated with sexual role-play.  Clint was ruined now.  Ruined.

There’s a considerate pause from Natasha as the Triskelion rises into view, “Vanilla can be nice.  Sometimes.”

“Nice?”

“Nice.”

Clint’s face goes hot.  Before he can formulate a response they’re at the security gate and his game face slips on easy as breathing, he’s got their ID cards ready to go for the men shoved into the kiosk at the gate.  It’s not an easy breeze through like some little country airport, they scan the cards and study their faces.  Clint isn’t overly friendly or rude, he’s not memorable and that’s the point.  In movies they always show the undercover dude joking like he belongs, making small talk, that sort of thing.  Real life people are ridden with social anxiety and a general abhorrence to strangers.  Most people don’t act like that unless bidden.  A polite nod, maybe a smile if one is thrown your way first, that’s the norm.  No one’s going to ask you about the freaking latest baseball game.  People don’t care, they just want you out of their face.

“Go ahead, sir.”  They’re waved through after an arduous ten minute inspection.  Natasha played irritated and entitled politician to a T, glaring at the security guys the whole time but never non cooperative.

Clint is expected to drop Natasha aka the Councilwoman near the front of the building where a welcoming committee awaits to escort her inside.  Clint gets out to open the rear passenger door for her and she squeezes his forearm reassuringly when she slides out.  She never looks him in the eyes but the little touch was all he needed.  He can’t wait around because there is another black limo pulling up behind probably carrying another World Council member.  Natasha disappears inside and Clint drives out of the way.  Clint has to breach the perimeter himself now but first…what’s he going to do with the poor lady in the trunk?

 

Roughly two klicks southeast of the Triskelion one Bucky Barnes in full mask and war paint is trudging his way up his last flight of stairs—so many fuckin’ stairs, singing “Space Oddity” under his breath and his Barrett M82A1 rifle secured to his back.  He had enough arms and munition on him to take on a small army and he wasn’t the one going behind enemy lines, but Natasha needed access to S.H.I.E.L.D. and needed to be able to signal Bucky on Peirce’s position.  Steve gave up the location of Pierce’s office level pretty easily, almost off-handed like he either didn’t quite realize why they wanted to know or he was pretending not to.  Either worked for Bucky, he wasn’t ashamed or shy about what he was best at.

“ _This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I’m stepping through the door_ …”, Bucky softly sings when he reaches the final door to the rooftop which is of course locked, he breaks the metal latch with a firm shove.

There’s a soft breeze in the air and it’s still cloudy while being neither warm nor cool.  Gloomy, if Bucky was capable of being sentimental about the weather while on mission. No sunlight works in Bucky’s favor since there won’t be any pesky shadows or glares to account for when calculating his shot.  The wind won’t be much of a problem either.  Bucky remembers taking out a Hydra cell in Afghanistan years ago back when revenge was the only thing that mattered and he’d mistakenly thought Hydra was powerful but escapable.  The distance was much the same as it was now, an impossible shot for a regular sniper.  The wind and sand back in Afghanistan had been a bitch so at least the non-city of D.C. had that going for it.  Bucky surveys the area sprawling out below him and does the calculations in his head in seconds, piece of cake, like one of those complicated twelve layer German cakes.  The kind that if you fucked up one layer you ruined the whole cake.  Still cake though.

Bucky takes a thin piece of metal from his utility belt and wedges it in the door to effectively lock it from the outside then finds a good spot to set up.  He could in fact hold the rifle in his hands and fire it accurately, he had enough strength to handle the recoil, but he was also in fact a lazy asshole so on his belly he went propping his weapon on the ledge facing the Triskelion.  Bucky adjusts the rear sights on the rifle until Pierce’s floor comes into clear view.  For a moment all he sees is the mirror-finish of the outside windows, he hits a tiny lever on his scope and the window phases out to grey and the white shapes of people become clear like ghosts haunting Pierce’s office.  Bucky watches as a group enters the area, one with certain recognizable curves is with them.  The familiar shape also has a small round object on its person in what was likely a pocket that glowed a brighter white than the heat of the person it was on letting him know for sure he was looking at Natasha.  She was also a good head shorter than everyone else in the room.  Another figure stops at each new person in the room handing something over, when the figure stops at Natasha she slips a device on him too that glows brighter than the person’s body heat indicating the one and only Alexander Pierce aka Jerk of the Motherfucking Week.

Bucky would bet a bottle of Russo-Baltique that window glass was reinforced.  He was gearing up to take two consecutive shots when the water surrounding the building actually started to move.  He can hear the swish of water and low rumbling of engines almost out of earshot.  Ah, he’d wondered where they were keeping the damned helicarriers, they were impressive airships too.  Threatening and generally really fucking cool, too bad about the whole murdering millions of people thing—that’s why the world couldn’t have nice things.  The helicarriers rose gently into the air, quiet for their size.  It had to piss Stark off knowing it was his engines powering those things.  They had all played their part, Bucky supposed, in the rise of Hydra.  The work he’d done himself was no less pivotal to them gaining power in the world.  Stark and Rogers, even Fury, they were as conscious of what they were doing as he’d been in the past.  Hydra had a way of slithering beneath the floorboards of your life, you’d never know they were there until the monster pulled you down.  So he shouldn’t blame the heroes and watchers of the world for not noticing, he thinks he shouldn’t, but it’s hard not to.  None of them were strapped into machines for decades as electricity burned through them like they were nothing until nothing is what they became, until pain didn’t register and he screamed more often than he spoke.  They had _choices_.

What had Steve said on the drive to the dam about Project Insight, oh right, “This wasn’t freedom, this was fear.”  Stevie could be real dramatic.  Bucky had the impression he’d always been that way, full of lofty words and a stubborn will that could back it all up.

S.H.I.E.L.D. chose fear, the World Security Council, Stark, they chose fear and everyone else just let it happen because they thought the world had changed.  As if the world _could_ change.  It’s the same hell as it ever was, full of assholes and smiling sharks; Bucky kind of liked it that way. He knew where he fit in a world like that.  There was good too, that good generally outweighed the bad for him on a daily basis.  Then again, every day since he and Natasha escaped together had felt like a day he got away with something, when you felt like that all the fucking time it was hard not appreciate the world as it was: terrible, hopeful, bloody, free.  He would never take freedom lightly.

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets a marksman’s stillness wash over him.  He pushes aside emotion and distraction until the moments between the beats of his heart are miles long.  Neither Hydra nor the Red Room had taught Bucky Barnes how to shoot.  He doesn’t remember learning when he did per se but Bucky knows he knew how long before mind control and torture turned his gun toward targets of someone else’s choosing. Knowing the skill was his alone was comforting, knowing he was the only one in control of the trigger was even more so.  The sights of his scope are trained on Pierce’s figure.  There’s some serious activity going down in the room, more warm bodies are swarming in and Pierce stands like Caesar speaking over the Senate, Natasha doesn’t move at all—she’s waiting.   Pierce hovers around her in a way that Bucky easily interprets as threatening.  Natasha stands her ground until Peirce moves on and Bucky refrains from letting out a breath.  He wishes they could’ve had comms in the building, not hearing what’s going on is making him uneasy.  Instead they have trust.  Trust in their “team”.

Bucky funnels the noise from the helicarriers into nothing with his senses and the only sound before the click and the blast of his rifle is Bucky’s own voice whispering bitterly, “Hail Hydra.”  His grin is sharp and then he pulls the trigger twice.

His first shot shatters the glass making a jagged whole and a spider web blooms across the part of the window’s surface that stays intact, his second ventilates Peirce’s skull.  The force throws his body back a couple of feet as pieces of bone and blood fly with him.  His body lands on the floor hard, the moment he drops Natasha moves into action.  The first guy she grabs gets sent through the broken window giving Bucky a full view on who’s who.  Natasha makes quick work of the rest of the security using fast and brutally graceful moves, Bucky puts a couple of big guys down via classic center-mass chest shots to help her out a little but he’s got to move now too.  She’s got this handled.  Natasha smiles a little in his direction and Bucky can’t help his responding smile, she still has the face mesh on concealing her identity and confusing the fuck out of the Council members whose lives they just totally saved—go team on the completely unintended saving of lives, lives belonging to the same asshats who thought the whole Project Insight gig was a swell plan.  Giant weapons system in the sky in a society that had teenagers who could hack into the Pentagon, what could go wrong?

Fucking.

Asshats.

Bucky adjusts his sights zooming out enough in time to see Scarlet Witch, War Machine, Falcon, Iron Man, and Thor heading for the helicarriers in a near-formation that looked all very heroic and shit.  Quicksilver had probably sped Captain America and the two S.H.I.E.L.D. leftovers in passed the Hydra forces to rally the part of S.H.I.E.L.D. that wasn’t into the whole modern-day Nazi death cult bullshit.  Bucky was sure they’d put up a good fight, but the thing about Hydra recruits was their unwavering belief in their “cause”.  They would fucking go full kamikaze if they had to.  Most people valued their lives, Hydra was just like most terrorist organizations in their wiliness to throw themselves into a bullet.  Belief was a dangerous thing and Hydra knew how to wield it like a long-reaching sword.  Looks like they would be seeing what S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were made of.  Other than the one part secrets, one part uncomfortable looking skin-tight stealth suits, and two parts unforgivable douche recipe all their agents seemed to consist of.

Good thing Clint would be helping them out.  More or less.  He was mostly in there to make sure Natasha got out as a rare extraction plan but also to put some arrows in every Hydra piece of shit he could find.

 

Clint was, in fact, putting an arrow through every Hydra piece of shit he could find.  Which was not a helluva a whole lot.  Not because Clint was being frugal with his particular brand of battlefield justice against freakin’ Hydra but because the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were stepping up, some were more than stepping up.  They were aggressive, didn’t hesitate pulling the triggers on the people they worked day-in and day-out with.  Unnatural blue, a familiar blue, glint in their eyes.  Clint’s stomach roils.  Few turn into many, there as many of Loki’s blue-eyed army as Hydra running around.  Both fervent in their actions and willing to fight to the death.  Clint was aware of Loki amassing resources during his… _time_ with him to take on Hydra, yet these people weren’t those forces.  He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.  Clint focuses on trying to keep the part of S.H.I.E.L.D. who weren’t influenced by either Big Bad alive which was just as easy as it sounded while working his way up through each chaotic floor on his way to his favorite red-head.

He stays up high, in the rafters, through the ventilation system, any place he can stop that can be defended with a good view.  Loki’s forces move fast but there’s one agent who doesn’t look like a thrall who’s moving even faster and precise, a blonde woman.  Clint’s pretty sure he’s got socks older than her and she’s still outclassing just about every agent on the ground.  She definitely is noticing something not right with her corporate bros however there isn’t a lot of time to investigate with Hydra coming in droves moving as if there was no way they could be defeated.  Clint takes out a shooter coming around a corner that’s about take a shot at Badass Blonde.  Clint moves before she can see where the arrow came from heading up to the level Natasha’s going to be if all went according to plan.  He had four floors to go.  She would be there, she would be fine, and Clint is most definitely, abso-freaking-lutely, not nervous about a single damn thing.

Clint hustles his way down a clear corridor and stops dead at a little white button on the wall between two sliver doors.  He debates getting on the elevator.  Strategically speaking they were the very worse place to be.  Barton-wise taking the elevator to save time running up the stairs was only “sort of” a “bad idea”.  Hardly a blip on the radar of bad ideas.  Clint takes the elevator and swears to himself to tell no one about the awkward thirty seconds he spends in there alone humming the best parts of Bohemian Rhapsody until the doors dinged open to a small team of confused Hydra agents in a small circle talking to one another.  He catches the ass-end of their conversation when the doors open.  Peirce was dead.

Fuckin’ A.  Clint was going get Bucky a plaque made for that one.  At least a ribbon, you could get anything printed these days with no questions asked.

The sound of explosions outside rumble through the building rattling anything made of glass, the agents look up noticing Clint for the first time.  Waving Clint grins and does his best Captain America impression, “Hiya, I’m going to give you guys the opportunity to put down your weapons and surrender.  I swear on the Statue of Liberty not to hurt any of ya.”

The agents smirk ready for a brawl, and okay they are exactly the kind of intimidating one would expect from Hydra.  Tall, broad, generally looking like the kind of guys who would definitely make a woman feel uncomfortable in a bar by hitting on her even after she’s said no and being really fucking skeevy about it.  These guys were those guys, except worse because right now they wanted to kill Clint.

Clint sighs, “Aw c’mon guys, your grand plan is going down in flames as we speak, and I don’t really want to fight.  I just like wearing these clothes because they make me look cool.”  Yeah, nothing like a bullet-proof vest to make you walk with a little more confidence.  Natasha would claim everyone should have a bullet-proof something in their ensemble.  Clint wasn’t as fashion forward as Bucky or Natasha but that sounded like solid advice.

Without further warning the Hydra thugs fire, not like the Triskelion was shaking on its foundations or anything because of the freaking giant airships exploding just outside— _no,_ let’s beat up the guy with the bow and arrow. Hydra was full of class acts. Clint drops to one knee, pulls back three arrows at the same time and sends them flying, do not attempt at home.  The arrows rip through the soft tissue of their three throats.  Here’s a rule to always follow: protect ya neck.  The stiff collar on his tactical gear wasn’t just there because Natasha said it made his jawline look good in passing when he was trying stuff on.  Not entirely.  He had real head gear too but Kate whispered “aesthetic” one day to him and disappeared with it never to be seen again.

Two of the Hydra goons drop to the ground but one guy, the last with slicked-back hair and a mean glare was still standing making some pretty terrible choking noises.  Clint gets ups and takes one finger to slowly push the Hydra agent over until the goon falls with a heavy thump that Clint would feel kind of bad about if the dude wasn’t already dead and evil.

“Sorry fellas, but I’m running low.”  He says grabbing the arrows back out of their bodies and wincing at the wet sound the arrows make coming loose from the flesh.  This was why he couldn’t deal with the zombie apocalypse.  Not a fan of the squish, Daryl Dixon he was not.

Clint wastes no more time getting into position, he’s one floor down from Natasha but she still manages to get there before he does.  “There” is a visually pleasing window the size of a Buick facing away from all the action happening on the helicarriers as well as on a floor with nothing but offices.  No one was going to be defending their cubicle to the death.  The window is also weak, structurally, would be easy to cut with a diamond.  That was a big deal when half the Triskelion was bullet-proofed as fuck, apparently the more mediocre employees weren’t worth the protection.  After all this Clint suspected a lot of resignation letters were going to be turned in.

Natasha frowns at him, she’s not holding a weapon but Clint can see the faint outline of one strapped to her thigh beneath her long skirt that wasn’t there when he dropped her off, “You’re late.”

“Yeah well, _Hydra_ , put I also was having some trouble disabling the security feed.  That’s usually your job.”  Skye had done half the work for him before Clint had got there, but excuse him when he points out that Skye didn’t have to deal with the Triskelion on Nightmare Mode.

“You did all right.”

“Did _you_?”  Natasha doesn’t have a mark on her so he’s going to assume she did fine.  There are a few drops of blood on the sleeve of her suit however it’s obvious the blood isn’t hers.

“The world is currently getting a look at the real S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra.  Pierce is squared away and the helicarriers have been firing on each other for the past two minutes thanks to the Avengers.  Let’s call it a day, Hawkeye.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, what about our info?”  In actuality it was Natasha’s and Bucky’s information, their files and lives, which meant fuck all because as long as Clint was alive anything that involved them was going to be his problem too.  His problem, gladly.

“The better Hawkeye took care of it, along with that other thing.”

“The better—Hey! Rude!”

A heavy knock jerks their attention around.  Captain America could be light on his feet when he wanted to be.  Good for him.  Rogers doesn’t smile, “It’s rude to leave a party early too.”  He says in a deep voice laced with exhaustion.  His eyes shift around, he could be quiet not so much on the subtle.

Clint and Natasha level Rogers with a matching stare.

“I can’t let you just leave.  Look, we can help each other—”

Natasha rolls her eyes, somehow the little look of annoyance looked even more annoyed on the Councilwoman’s face, “Clint.”

“Sorry, Cap.”  Clint takes a small canister from a pouch on his belt and throws it.  Instinctively Rogers crouches and throws up his shield expecting an explosion instead he gets a corridor filled with thick purple smoke that would last a solid ten minutes.

The window glass shatters due to a diamond-tipped heel slamming into it.  Clint shoots two grappling arrows into the floor, snags Natasha by the waist and wraps straps around them both before falling backwards out of the window.

Clint and Natasha hit the ground on their feet a few rushing seconds later.  Natasha lost her wig on the way down and her normally perfect hair is wild.  Clint thinks the look is stupidly attractive. He detaches their shared harness and grins, “Well, that was pretty fucking ninja.”

Natasha slaps his arm, “Stop quoting HBO.”

“Not quoting anything, Tasha, I was _there_.”

Natasha laughs but she doesn’t doubt it.

 

Days later Steve sits across from Tony and Fury not bothering to hide how incredibly unimpressed he is with the resident genius and the world’s greatest spy.  Sam stands behind him, maybe hovering somewhat but he was allowed having earned hovering rights around the same time he realized having Steve’s back was a full-time job with the benefit of having Steve out-run his ass every single morning because Captain America was a little bitty bit of a dick.  Sam had thought after the dust settled Steve would also settle some, lose some of that invisible weight he’d been carrying around.  That was not the case, and Sam Wilson had eyes, and Steve Dumbass Rogers was one of his best friends.  Sam had figured out what had Steve strung-out the way he was.  Restless.  Waiting.  Steve wanted to go after him—The Winter Soldier.  It was taking all of the very little self-restraint Steve had to not go do just that.  The reason was obvious, the why was still a mystery.  If Steve wanted to tell him about it Sam would listen and if he didn’t Sam wouldn’t push.  Honestly, of all the people Steve would have a crush on in this century of fucking course it was going to be one of the most dangerous people Sam’s ever met and have a goddamned metal arm.  Why wasn’t he surprised?

“I’m sorry, Cap.  There’s no trace of them, believe me I looked.”  Fury says, “They wiped out the security cameras along with any intel we had on them in the system.  Hydra’s too.  I would really like to know how they found the time to do that with S.H.I.E.L.D. crumbling around them and the world’s eyes on us.  They also cleaned out Peirce’s bank accounts.  The private ones, and left no trail to follow.  I couldn’t have done a better job myself.  Other than that the slug that put Peirce down was soviet-made, no rifling, it was one hell of a shot.  We did find the missing member of the Council tied up in a port-a-potty in the parking garage, safe to say she wasn’t the one tossing around those moves during the take-down.”

Steve stands and rests his thumbs on his belt.  He doesn’t believe Fury, he might not believe Fury ever again, not totally, “What about you, Tony?”

Tony scrubs his face, he looks exhausted even by Tony Stark standards, “Nothing, zilch, nada, you’re going to have to Facebook them or something.  I wouldn’t worry about, they seemed pretty serious in wanting to know who you know,”  Tony makes an irreverent _bang bang_ sound in Fury’s direction, “They’ll be in contact, I’d bet twelve percent of—you know what never mind, they will.  Meanwhile Pepper just informed me that every single one of us other than Nick, because he’s dead, are requested to appear before an emergency congressional hearing.  Requested is the polite way to put it.  They want to fucking roast us.”

Sam hazards a guess, “The government wants someone to blame.”  They always did.  The Avengers were always first on the list too.

“You’d think a Nazi terrorist organization with a name like Hydra would be good enough for them, those papers would sell themselves, but _nooooo_.  Not like we just saved millions of lives.  Actual human lives, _babies_ …some of them.  Some of them were definitely babies.”  Tony slumps a little over his huge mostly glass desk and closes his eyes.  Sam worries he’s fallen asleep when Tony speaks up again without bothering to raise his head from the cool surface, “Pepper is stalling them the best she can while we…regroup.  You, Wilson, owe her lemon squares.”

“Copy that.”  Sam agrees easily.

 

At the same time Steve is trying to not head out into the world and turn over every stone for Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes steps foot into the Smithsonian.  He’d been there once before for a Mars exhibit though he couldn’t recall the year.  Hopefully that didn’t mean he’d killed somebody.  What was it like for people who didn’t have to deal with that being a legitimate concern in their lives?  Was it nice or boring?  Maybe nice and boring was the same thing, Bucky thinks boring doesn’t sound like such a horrible concept.

Generally he wasn’t one for museums, it was hard when history was sprawled out before you and you can remember your part in it.  He was there for the history today, Captain America’s history.  Bucky had to do this before they went to ground, he had to know.  He dresses in casual clothes, no leathers, or anything that stands out, he hasn’t even shaved since they took down Hydra.  Or at the very least crippled Hydra, the world knew Hydra existed now and there was no bouncing back from that…and if they did?  The Winter Soldier would be waiting.

A baseball cap pulled low over his eyes completed his “I’m just a totally normal dude doing normal dude things but don’t try to talk to me” look allowing him to avoid eye-contact with everyone with a pulse.

Bucky wasn’t there for the living anyway.

He’s slapped in the face with his own image the moment he steps into the exhibition.  It’s so abrupt he forgets to breathe then lets the air in his lungs out all in one big gasp.  Yes, Bucky expected to find something at the museum just maybe not painted on a wall and the size of a giant.  The mural was made to showcase the uniforms donned on the mannequins posed in formation below it, each from one of the Howling Commandoes and of course Captain America.  Then there he was, right fucking there next to the Captain.  The blue coat seems familiar, nothing else does yet.  He remembers the feeling of that coat.  Warm, he remembers one of the USO girls sewing the wing on his sleeve because she wanted him and the Captain to match.  He’d pretended to be put-out about it.  Secretly the little wing gave him a pleasant swooping sensation in his stomach.  Bucky doesn’t feel the same way in the present when he looks at it.  There’s only a sad chasm where the emotion should be, no not sad, it’s more of an ache for what he knows was there once.  Like the way his left arm aches when he stays awake too long, it wasn’t physically possible for his metal arm to ache except for at the attachment points on his shoulder and along his spine only under extreme duress, and yet…Anything can still ache, once in a while.

The memory goes by in a blur and Bucky moves on.  The Commandoes all have their pictures up with a little plaque beneath them, Bucky has a whole wall.  He’d tried  so hard  to leave the past behind him and here it all was, shit he couldn’t even remember, pulled up from the grave and left out to rot in open air.  His own face stares back at him in black and white, as if asking the question, “How could you?”  “How could you leave me behind?”

Sergeant Barnes the words etched in glass say.  Sergeant Barnes, Zola’s voice echoes, the name had always felt like a dirty word.  A rank and a name they would scrub away, said like a taunt.  Bucky watches himself look at Rogers and laugh while they have a silent conversation that he can’t recall.  Rogers, _Steve_ , shines like the sun.  Bucky shines with him.  He still can’t remember Steve the way he wants.  Steve is still a just a snippet of narrow shoulders and wispy blonde hair.  It’s too much.  It’s not enough.

Steve hadn’t been pulling anything out of his ass when he’d said he knew Bucky.  All this time Bucky had been hoping that was exactly what he’d been doing, would’ve been so much easier.

Bucky turns away to read over the Howlies’ lives, he was their sergeant, and when he inspects each of their faces a fierce pride bubbles up in him at all they accomplished.  They did good…while their Bucky Barnes was doing the worst evil.  His wall told him he should be dead.  His body was never recovered.  The Howlies had looked until it was deemed a lost cause.  They couldn’t bring back anything for the Barnes family.  Bucky understood in a faraway notion that of course he must have had blood relatives but only as a concept.  It was different when he was standing there reading the names of his sisters.  His mother and his father, they were all dead now.

History, it was all history.

According to _history_ , Bucky Barnes had known Steve Rogers since childhood.  Steve followed him into War and in turn Bucky followed Captain America.  “Schoolyard to Battlefield.”  Then he fell off a moving train in the mountains and Steve crashed his plane into the ice.

That fucking idiot.

Bucky might not ever remember everything or anything else.  Some things were never going to come back, he doesn’t remember the first time he met _Natasha_ and she was the first person in a long time who reminded him that he was _human_.  Despite the uncertainties Bucky wanted to get to know this decade’s Steve Rogers, if this Steve was willing to get to know this Bucky.  Who he was now, because even though he didn’t remember the man memorialized on the wall before him he knew without a doubt of one thing:  that man was indeed dead.  Whoever he was, whatever he meant to people, he was different now. Steve was going to have trouble with that.  Steve didn’t fully understand what Bucky had done.  Kate and her crew sponged their records from the S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra servers so now he wouldn’t ever know.  Unless Bucky told him.  Of the conversations he didn’t want to have that one with Steve was right up there in the top ten.   The top spot was reserved for Clint and the archer trying to explain the plot of Dog Cops to him.  Just…no.

Bucky takes a centering breath, notes how cold the room’s gotten and the shift of energy in the air that screamed _wrong_.  Green light pulses over the crowd and the throngs of people slow to a stop as Bucky turns around with his combat knife already in hand to intercept the scepter heading for his heart.  He jams his blade between the jagged edges of the scepter and grabs the arm that materializes behind it.

The scepter pushes closer.  Bucky says, “Nope.” and forces the sharp end of the scepter back.

Loki appears fully in a gold glimmer smiling like he just kicked Thor in the balls and wearing some fancy modern clothes, “Easy, soldier, I was simply testing.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.  In a blur of movement he grabs the scepter with both hands and lands a well-placed kick to Loki’s chest.  Loki gasps and loosens his grip, Bucky takes the scepter twirling it one hand like a baton not-quite on purpose.  Loki disappears in the same glimmer of gold he appeared in as does the scepter in Bucky’s hand.

“Still testing, soldier.  Barton was right about you.”  Loki’s voice says from all around him.

“Oh, Clint didn’t mention you at all.  No one likes clingy, Luka.”  Bucky snarks totally not freaked out by the fucking time magic freezing everyone to a stop around him.

Loki fizzles back into existence and throws a small dagger at Bucky’s head, he catches the dagger and Loki spits, “My name is Loki.  Of Asgard.”

“Yeah, now it’s clicking.  Thor’s brother.”

Loki throws another dagger that comes from literally nowhere.  Bucky catches it too, fuckin’ magic.  “Yes,” the Asgardian sneers, “I was made aware of your memory problems.”

What the fuck, was Loki of Asgard getting _catty_ with him?

“Don’t need a good memory to stomp a hole in your ass, _Luka_.”  To demonstrate his point Bucky drops and swipes out Loki’s legs from beneath him in a fluid movement, he catches the Asgardian’s chin in an uppercut on the way back to his feet.  Loki’s head flicks back in a crack and again Loki’s body vanishes in a flash of magical light.  Bucky resists grinding his teeth.  Fuckin’ _magic._ Fuckin’ bullshit is what it was.

Loki has the gull to make an exasperated sound.  Bucky was the one who’d been in the middle of having a montage moment with his past.  Loki appears all around him, literally, three exact copies of Loki’s smirking face flank him from all sides.  Bucky didn’t think any of them were the actual Loki by this point.  He punches one square in the nose anyway.

“Really, soldier?”  All of the Loki’s say, which wasn’t creepy at all, “Are you done with the barbarism?  Can we speak now like civilized killers?”

_No_ , Bucky wants to snap but doesn’t because honestly he was torn between wishing he smuggled a gun into the museum instead of a knife and wanting to know what Loki was so damned keen on talking to him about.  The worst part was that at the entrance of this wing of the museum Clint was keeping an eye out while Natasha had the other end, protecting him.  Clint wouldn’t entertain the idea of hearing Loki out.  Natasha would, while plotting his murder but still she would listen to what he had to say.  Then of course there was the question of whether or not Bucky could take Loki alone when it took all of the Avengers to put him down, but not for the count.  Kinda like Hydra.  A more cynical person with a dick-ish streak would mumble something about “patterns” there but Buck was above that sort of thing.

Bucky figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of killing Loki right there and then.  Because he was a cocky son of a bitch, he always overplayed his odds.  Loki seemed to know exactly what he was contemplating; he shimmers into one being and holds his hands up in a universally placating gesture.

“I have come here with an offer, Winter Soldier.  One that would benefit us both.”  Loki’s words had a lulling quality about them probably meant to make the target of his words more inclined to believe him.  Bucky didn’t think Loki ever tried that particular Jedi mind trick on someone who had had their brain fried on a regular basis for decades.

“Last time somebody pitched that mutual benefit crap to me I woke up with no money, no clothes, and stranded in Reno.”  Bucky says.  Mostly he’s stalling trying to figure out Loki’s game, his hopes weren’t too high on that front.

Loki makes a face, he understands about half of what Bucky just said and seems to file it all under Midgardian nonsense with a subtle narrowing of his eyes.  Loki slowly reaches for something inside his suit pocket.  Bucky tenses though he doesn’t strike out only because he doesn’t think Loki of Asgard was going to pull a Glock on him—didn’t really match the fucker’s MO.

There was no gun of any sort.   There _was_ a bullet, made for a large rifle and glowing emerald green.  Loki tosses the bullet to Bucky grinning at Bucky’s wariness.

“I’m here, to offer you a job, Winter Soldier.  What would you say to killing a titan?”

Bucky blinks and says nothing for a long time.  The bullet pluses with an eerie warmth in his hand.  When he does answer Loki is pleasantly surprised at his words.

“Full payment up front.  No fucking refunds.”

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buck-Buck you better know what you’re doing.   
> The Russo-Baltique vodka bottle Bucky’s willing to bet is worth anywhere between 150k to a few million depending on the bottle, yeah, he totally has one squirreled away somewhere. Or two.  
> “Pretty fucking Ninja” is a reference to Generation Kill both a series and a book about the First Recon Marines who spear-headed the invasion of Iraq in crappy Humvees, with shit supplies, and COs who were dumb as hell.   
> I’mma touch on the Original Sin comics arc just a little but from here on out there’s gonna be significantly less Avengers. Mostly just the Murder Kids, Team A and Team B.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘tis short dears

 

**Chapter 16**

Clint’s punched Bucky before.  Really meant it before too, it had felt like hitting a brick wall.  A wall that had the ability to mock you afterwards as you clutched your shattered hand to your chest, weeping.  He knew how his fist was going to feel when he connected with Bucky’s jaw right after Bucky said he took a job from Loki but he took the swing all the same.  Bucky didn’t budge, he wouldn’t even bruise and the red mark that mars his jaw will fades in seconds.  Altogether pretty damn unsatisfying,  but the impulse had been too strong.

                “What the fuck, Barnes!”

                “Clint, James did the smart thing.  Calm down.”  Natasha soothes, she doesn’t look all that concerned with the careless way she drops their keys on a small table by the door and points her eyes heavenward asking for strength.  From who was unknown, her future wiser self most likely, if it were up to her Natasha would only look for help from Natasha.

                Bucky had waited until they were back home to tell them anything about the Smithsonian.  It was a very quiet stolen car ride.  He knew Clint too well, and he knew any argument would go down better on home turf.

                “He cut a deal with Loki, Natasha! Stop letting her talk for you Barnes, I know why you’re doing it—I see you villain!”

                “Stop quoting shows!”

                “They’re all I have Natasha!”  Which was a lot sadder said out loud than Clint intended.

                Bucky rubs his jaw and continues to stay silent while Natasha plays the voice of reason, “Cutting a deal as opposed to what?  Telling Loki to shove it up his ass and hope he didn’t use his magic on him or kill him outright?  What about all the civilians around him if a fight broke out?  Better he take a deal and live long enough to regret than not live at all.”

                Clint slumps and scrubs his face until his hands get warm, “ _Arrrrghhh_!”

                Bucky sighs, “I wanted to take him out, Clint, I did.  Fuck, it was the first thing I tried to do.”

                “I _knooow_ ,”  Clint grouses avoiding the sincerity in Bucky’s grey-blue eyes, “but I am not working for Loki.  I don’t care if he pays us enough to buy fucking Denmark!”

                “Why Denmar—”

                “It’s just a fucking example Bucky, _Jesus Christ_.”

                Bucky smirks and Clint’s anger begins to dissipate somewhat.  Natasha was right, Bucky had been put in a hard spot and Bucky’s life was worth a thousand times more to Clint than Loki’s death.  Of course, the two didn’t even compare.  He was glad Bucky was okay.  Nothing was more important than that, Clint still wanted to personally bash Loki’s balls in with a hammer.  All the hammers.  Thor’s hammer even.  He would bet Molnearier-er-whatever would totally make him worthy long enough to crush Loki’s balls.  Definitely a worthy cause at least.

                Clint shambles his way to the office couch and collapses on it with an _oompf._ Coming back to the office lifted a small amount of weight from their collective shoulders.  Problems were always gonna be there nevertheless even the biggest shit-storm coming their way seemed more manageable when faced from their crappy little office space. Big problems through a small lens could do a helluva a lot for morale.  Also coffee.

“I’m sorry Buck, I just…”  Have the most irrational anger about Loki?  Can’t sleep without still feeling that slithering presence in the back of his mind?  All Clint ends up saying is a rather incoherent grunt and vaguely gesturing to the empty air between the couch and the messy coffee table.

“It’s fine.  We all know you’re the drama queen of the…guild.”

“Aw man, now you’re just trying to make me feel better and now I just feel worse…I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“Is that what you’re calling that?  I thought you were just trying to awkwardly touch my face, I mean I know we have this weird three-way tension going on but I have boundaries.”  Bucky manages to deliver the line with a straight face and it makes the last of Clint’s angry resolve crumble.

Grinning Clint lifts his head and snaps his fingers, “Aw shucks, there goes my epic threesome Valentine’s Day plans for next year.”

Natasha hums and slides past between them to the office computer, “Too bad.”

Bucky waggles his eyebrows and Clint has to hide his face in the couch cushions like the adult he was.  Bucky moves to sit beside Clint, having to physically move Clint in doing so, and reaches into the inside of his tac vest.  They’d been home for a whole half hour but they haven’t made a move to wind down yet.  The gear was staying on as long as they were still in a combat-readiness mode.  That frame of mind took some time to bleed out of their systems, it never really left completely. Bucky’s vest would stay on even as the want of sleep buzzed numbly around the edges of his awareness, no rest for the wicked as they say.

The object Bucky retrieves is the single emerald bullet Loki gave him, Clint stares then cocks an eyebrow, “Just the one?”

Bucky shrugs, “Loki said I would only get one chance anyway.  One bullet.  If I miss I’m dead.  Thanos isn’t going to give me a second shot.”

Clint pales, “Okay.  Right.  So when are we supposed to—”

“Not we, just me.  He only needs one shooter Clint.  Like you said, you would never work for Loki and I would never ask you to.”

A ratty pink knitted blanket that sometimes appeared on the end of the couch that no one would ever fess up to bringing is launched at Bucky’s face.  He lets it fall over his head without even trying to catch it because it’s been that kind of week.  Fabric rubbing against his hair causes little static shocks that get annoying enough to make Bucky drag the blanket off so he can look at Clint’s scowling face instead of just imagining it.  Clint is indeed scowling, only it falters a bit when he takes in the static mess of Bucky’s hair.

Clint shakes his head and sits up more, “You’re dumb as shit, Barnes, if you think we are letting you go about this alone.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything; he cracks a crooked half-smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes.  Natasha silently refers to it as the “I’m in Deep Shit and I’m Trying to Ignore It” smile.  Natasha turns away from him and Clint long enough to print out the confirmation of their new bank statements courtesy of Skye’s hard work and due diligence.  She’d put on a pot of coffee when she was up too, the smell alone makes them feel more alive than they have in the past couple of hours. Skye, Wade, and Kate had all already taken their cut of the money despite that Natasha reads the numbers and lets out an impressed whistle.  She leaves the little computer nook of the office and vaults over the back of the couch to land in the space between Clint and Bucky handing out the paper like invitations to a party. 

Natasha pats Bucky on the arm and smirks, “You might die, and we might die making sure you don’t die alone.  But at least if we do we’re going to die _rich_.”

Frowning Bucky replies, “I hope that wasn’t meant to be comforting.”  Natasha shoves his paper further into his face until he grabs it away and finally reads it.  Clint speaks what they’re both thinking.

“Holy.  Shit.”  Clint holds the statement away from his face as if it was going to change the amount of zeroes, “I’m going to buy so many arrows, guys.  So many arrows.”

                “Don’t go crazy, hawkguy, a big chunk of all this is going to toward scrubbing us off the radar again.  Unless you want to move out of New York—”

                “ _No_.”  Clint and Bucky echo.

                “Then palms are going to need to be greased.  I thought about buying our building but I figured it looked better on paper to have a landlord.  No one’s going to go searching for us here, too brazen and no one will expect people like us to keep paying rent for this hellmouth.”

                “Might be a hellmouth but its home.”  Clint sighs and relaxes further into the cushions.  He closes his eyes and asks Bucky after a few deep breaths, “So, when is Loki going to call you in?  He didn’t mention anything about a Thanos to me.  He still has an army, starting to think the army is more of a backup plan if you fail.”

                “You think he meant to hire us all along?”

                “Is it that big of a stretch?”

                “God of lies?  No.  He did say he was going to send a dossier.  Like this is a fucking run of the mill hit, but it’s not like we can just do a fuckin’ Google search on a space titan.  Loki’s obviously put off by him, that’s more than enough for me to be concerned.”

                “Great, we gotta kill the boogeyman to the one of the greatest threats Earth has ever known,” Clint side-eyes Bucky over Natasha’s head, “This is probably one of the worst things that could have happened.”

                Natasha shrugs, “Probably.”

                The three sigh and say simultaneously, “Could be worse.”

                Green smoke wisps across their coffee table and flattens before disappearing into a little glowing ball out of existence.  Left in its wake is a thick white file pristinely printed and fucking tabbed in varying shades of green.  Clint crosses his arms and shakes his head looking both unsurprised and profoundly disappointed.  He glances at Bucky like this was all _his_ fault Loki was magic-ing shit into their office.

                “Not like it was going to come through the mail.”  Natasha says though she’s looking around the room, aware of the timing of the dossier’s appearance.

                Clint hasn’t stopped shaking his head, he’s so over this shit.  Next chance he got Clint was going to crawl into his favorite archery store and never leave.  Bring some Starbucks, make a weekend out of it, maybe start selling some of his own arrow-related inventions.  Like the Boomerang Arrow, who doesn’t love boomerangs?  Evil people.  Hydra.  Natasha, but only because he broke one of her weird framed butterfly things on a test run. Those things were creepy anyway.

                Bucky waved away some of the lingering green smoke like this was all a fucking normal everyday occurrence and picks up the pristine file to flip through it.  He squints , “It’s all in Russian.”

                “Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem?”  Clint responds as Bucky passes the file over to Natasha who does the same little pensive squint.

                “It looks just like the mission directives the Red Room used.”  Natasha doesn’t exactly frown, “He knows a lot about us.  More than you could have told him, Clint.”

                “I think its Loki’s version of a joke, Natalia.”

                “It’s not funny.”

                “Yeah, well, he’s a dick so…”  Bucky shrugs and takes the file back.  His faux nonchalance is betrayed by his too careful grip on the papers.  He flips through page by page rather slowly without sitting back down. In his gear, and the look of concentration on his face Bucky cuts an imposing figure.  Clint and Natasha at the moment appear positively tame in comparison.  The idea of some sort of space titan is so abstract but Clint looking at Bucky right then Clint believes Bucky could kill anything.  Anyone.  God, Clint hoped so. 

There would be nowhere to run if this went south.  Thanos sounded like world ending jackassery, _again_.  Only Hydra ending the world was more like controlling the world, Thanos was into some real world ending mayhem.  Dust and ashes type of jam.  He was apparently into ending Loki too, which, Clint couldn’t really blame anyone for.  Clint had an arrow waiting for Loki the moment he was given the opportunity and Thanos was out of the way.

“Loki doesn’t know when Thanos is going to show up.  Just that he’s coming and he wants blood.  Loki failed and then kept the scepter for himself, Thanos gave that thing to him in order to conquer Earth.”  Bucky says while his eyes continuously scan the Cyrillic text, “Loki _says_ , he wants the scepter back and Loki to burn, the Earth along with him.”

“He’s just…telling us all this?”  Natasha as always is immediately suspicious of any information freely given without some sometimes violent finagling.  No one just tells you things, not unless they want to make you feel a certain way about it, at least no one in their circle of associates.  Was Thanos’ motivation really relevant to Bucky?  Not really.  Sure they looked into targets to satisfy their collective moral conscience, mostly Clint’s, but blowing Thanos’ head off wasn’t that kind of party.  Natasha was right, Loki knew way more about them than he ever asked Clint.

“I think he wants me to succeed, if I don’t, then he’s got a whole army to throw at Thanos while he runs to the other end of the universe.  Loki might be a god but he’s just like everybody else when it comes to dying.”  Bucky drops the file back onto the table with the appropriate amount of disdain.

“What do we do in the meantime?”  Clint asks, he’s not opposed to napping.  A coma perhaps.  A short coma.

“Pizza.”  The ever logical Black Widow decides.

Clint groans, “Marry me.”

“Not until that rash clears up.”  She quips while getting up to order in, her heals get kicked near the door.

“You _told her_?!”  Clint accuses Bucky who’s looking about as innocent as Nixon after Watergate.

“Hydra could have killed one of us.  She needed to know.”

“You’re never petting Lucky again.”

“Don’t be like that Barton, we can get you a cream and—”

Bucky’s cut off by Clint standing up on the couch and attempting to body slam the deadly assassin which is obviously a less embarrassing thing to do than having a rash in an inconvenient place.  Hey, he was a complex guy.  Only Bucky’s not there when Clint lands and his face slams into one the lumpy cushions of the couch, not so comfy when face-planting into them from a six foot drop.  Bucky was too damned fast and it was irritating, he’d managed to move out of the way and throw down a cushion in one fluid motion keeping the archer from smashing his face.

Clint wasn’t serious about the Lucky thing.  That traitorous dog loved Barnes way too much, he would probably just run away to Bucky’s doorstep and stay there until Buck had to leave for a job.

Bucky smirks, Clint stays in his flopped position like a dead fish unwilling to face up to his failure.  He pats Clint’s messy blonde head and almost doesn’t recoil when another memory assaults him.  He remembers a different head of blonde hair that came up to his chest.  It’s a playful gesture that makes the face ducking away burn with a blush.  Bucky blinks away the memory with annoying ease and forces the smirk to return to his face rather than wallow in the ache of the feeling like he lost something.  He knows why that face is attached to that feeling but it wasn’t like he could do anything about yet.  He wasn’t even sure how to begin.  What was the protocol for remembering old best friends, more than best friends, send a card?  A kiss-a-gram?  Write “hey, wanna get together like the good ‘ol days” in the blood of Steve’s enemies?  Natasha would appreciate that, Steve was less likely to though.

“Tash, get me my usual, I need to go pick something up.”  Bucky announces a little suddenly.  He needs air, but he’s also realized the emerald bullet wasn’t going to fit any of the weapons he has there at the office.  No, it went to one gun in particular.

Loki had crafted the bullet for his modified Johnson sniper rifle, the weapon was nothing compared the kinds of shit manufacturing companies produced today but he’d found it stashed with his original files along with his name and rank, as well as a chain of mangled dog-tags, so he’d held on to it without ever using it.  Sentimental value for an object he didn’t remember ever owning only the surety that it was _his._ The Smithsonian visit explained where they all came from and why they were indeed his.   Being able to possess anything was a big deal after going on the run.  Anything he was able to have from people to notebooks he clung to.  Bucky was still maybe a little bit of a low-key clinger, it was habitual and while the healthiness of that may be up for debate it was nice having a habit that wasn’t formed under the harsh hand of Hydra and the Red Room.

The rifle was stashed at his place, the closest of their apartments to the office and the most well-armed, not that way by design but it worked out well for them strategically.  Clint muttered something about how the last time he went off on his own they became employees for Loki, to that Bucky offered his middle finger without looking back on his way out the door.  Natasha said nothing.  He knew to be careful.  Every time they weren’t under their own roofs it was taking a risk, they didn’t know what the Avengers would try to do about them.  On an instinctual level he trusted Steve.  Realistically Bucky walked around with an imaginary Trust No One tattoo across his chest and one of those awful “Let God Sort’em Out” t-shirts.  He has lots of awful t-shirts but that one would never be among them.  He was running on hopes here and that was not something he was used to.  Loki was still a threat too of course but the Asgardian could materialize shit in their office so nothing was really stopping him from doing far worse.  Nothing could really be done about it.  Maybe call Thor?  What would that do?  Piss off Loki and level their city block, that’s what.

Thanks, but no thanks.  He was too lazy to move and also, like he said he was prone to do, he was attached to their shoddy building and their disreputable neighborhood.  Bucky found Thor to be instantly likeable but just standing next to the guy could make your insurance rates go up.  The Avengers could afford that, for the moment Bucky could too but that wasn’t going to last long according to Natasha.  This was why criminals always lived in shit circumstances despite having just gotten ahold of stolen millions.  All for the sake of laying low.  In this day and age anonymity was a hard thing to come by, it was also a good thing in this day and age that you could buy damn near anything.  Anonymity included.

Kate, Skye, and Wade had a nice cut from their Hydra adventures as well.  They got the wonderful advantage of being faceless too.  Avengers didn’t know about them nor did Hydra.  They were safe as they could be in their line of work.  So they _should_ be in their respective homes chilling, catching a movie perhaps. They _should not_ be trying to tail him.  Other than the obvious he’s an assassin and his instincts are screaming at him to snap the necks of anyone stupid enough to try and follow him, Bucky also was on a higher alert than usual…and these brats were sneaking up on him.  Wade was older than the other two however Buck had about fifty years on the guy so he was a fuckin’ brat too.  The three kept their distance all the way to Bucky’s brick apartment complex then scurried off when he made a show of peering behind him before buzzing into the gated front entrance.  Whatever they were up to Bucky wasn’t worried. 

Eh, not the real kind of worried.  More of the “what shit are they up to and will I regret my life later” kind of worried because honestly getting those three together was definitely becoming one of his bigger regrets.  His inbox was full of memes, only so many could be attributed Wade.  It was all Natasha’s fault for giving him his number in the first place, as most things were.  Bucky gives one last blatantly apprehensive look over his shoulder and then he steps through the barred glass doorway into the cigarette smoke tinted air of his building.

 

So here’s the thing, of fucking course Kate and Skye were following Bucky, Wade was there too but for now Kate was just calling him moral support and definitely not “Dadpool” like he wanted.  No, they had a new mission, again on Natasha’s orders.  Except maybe mission wasn’t the right word.  More like an operation, a black ops—if you will.  Operation Help the Winter Soldier Tap That.  Kate was so into this, because the “That” was Captain America and she’d always wanted to help Natasha with her little match-making shadiness.  It was like being a private eye.  Sort of, with opposite results she guesses.

Kate lowers her binoculars and shifts behind the corner she was peering from when Barnes starts looking suspicious.  Right behind her is Skye, right behind Sky is Wade who’s thrown a black hoodie over his suit in attempt to look causal.  If anything he looks even weirder.  At least they were back in New York, the few locals that were out that night didn’t bat an eye at their little group peeking around corners.

“I dunno,” Skye starts again for the sixth time, “feels kind of personal.  Bucky is very…”

In a terrible Russian accent Wade suggests, “Cold like Russian Winter?”

“I was going to say private.  Also: my _friend_.”

Kate shrugs, as does Wade, and Skye sighs, “Oh internet gods, he’s gonna kill us.”

“Or thank us.”  Kate points out.  The way Natasha sold it, Barnes and Rogers were destiny and they were just helping grease the wheels.

“You know guys, I could just go get into one of the Cap costumes I totally don’t own four of and—”

Horrified at the implications Kate and Skye hiss, “No!”

“Dream-crushers, both of you.”

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real question is how long can hot-tempered, impatient Stevie Rogers stay away?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully there aren't too many mistakes, I was kinda in a hurry to get this chapter out before the middle of this month. Thanks for reading!

 

**Chapter 17**

For days Steve’s been sitting on his hands.  For days Steve’s been going about business as usual, as usual as things could get with the fallout of Hydra rippling out in very annoying ways, while Bucky was out there somewhere.  Near?  Far?  There was no way to tell unless he went to Tony and asked him to run a search.  Which he wasn’t going to do because he said he wouldn’t.  He just thought…Bucky would have reached out to him by now.  They’d worked together so well, he believed his high hopes were justified.  Bucky was still Bucky, memory or no, he had a certain harder edge to him certainly.  More like he was during the war than Brooklyn, but they’d been boys then.  They’ve grown up.  Quickly and harshly, tempered by war.  Time had passed differently for them, Bucky fit here.  Steve still felt like an interloper in his own timeline.  Here in body but not in mind.  He was getting better at catching up, there was just so much of everything, information piled up each day.  Steve could handle more than most, process facts with superhuman speed, but even he wasn’t fast enough to stay on top of the internet. 

 Bucky seemed to have no problem, the way he’d looked at Stark’s gadgets reminded him of every science fair he’d been dragged to since he was twelve.  Not that it was any trouble to Steve, except the awful case of awkwardness when Buck would try to make it a double date.  His excitement was worth any embarrassment Steve may have suffered.  The way his eyes lit up when he came home with a new(ish) sci-fi novel in hand, it was still the same—that joy without an ounce of self-consciousness.  The world had caught up with Bucky’s dreams for it.  Of course he belonged here. 

Steve wondered if Bucky was disappointed flying cars weren’t really a thing yet, Howard Stark had promised him flying cars by now.  It had been a very long conversation in London pub that ended with Howard signing a napkin promising one James Barnes that Stark would have a working and safe to drive flying car in his driveway by 1950 with all the Howlies as witnesses.  Did Bucky remember Howard?  Probably not.  They were, for lack of a better term, drinking buddies during the war.  They traded sharp barbs as often as real well-meaning jokes too.  Steve could never quite pin their relationship down, he only knew the sour feeling of jealousy that rose when he saw the two sipping cognac.  He should be used to sharing Bucky, but he never quite got there.  It was only after Bucky fell Steve figured out _why_.

 He loved him.  Of course he loved him, the whole time, after, still.

Going into the ice was easy without Bucky, coming out of the ice without Bucky was much harder.  Finding out Bucky was _alive_?  That was a fucking miracle to him, even knowing what Hydra did to him.  Bucky was alive and well, and suddenly this new age didn’t seem so daunting.  Steve could deal with it, he could take on all-comers, because James Buchanan Barnes was _alive_.

If Tony completely understood he would probably tell him things aren’t so simple.  Sam knows more but he’s more of the live and learn kind of guy.  Steve couldn’t tell them everything yet, Bucky’s…business, was his own.  His life had been hard earned after what Hydra did to him, even that Steve only knew the barest of broad strokes about.  Its Steve’s thoughts on Bucky’s past with Hydra that consume him on his way walking downtown to Avengers Tower.  Walking the streets of New York helped him clear his head most days, some nights too.  A lot had changed, a lot hadn’t, and he supposed he and Buck were a lot like the city in that respect.  New York had always been crowded full of every kind of person imaginable, eventually one was going to accidently run into you.  Steve just hadn’t expected to get nearly bull-dozed by a girl right that second.  The girl slams into his side and he’s surprised she doesn’t bounce back like a ball but instead keeps her forward momentum.  If that been him before the serum he’d still be on the ground hoping no one stepped on any vital parts.

The locomotive of a girl has long brunette hair and a laptop satchel slung around her, she actually stops to apologize which is a rare thing to do.  Not just these days, that was the nature of New York during rush hour.  People have shit to do.

 “Oh shit—uh, _jeez_.  I’m so sorry!  I, um, yeah, sorry! Shit! _Bye_!”  The girl flaps her hands around a little, she looks weirdly genuinely apologetic, and continues on her way before Steve can get out an awkward “No problem.”

No one else on the busy street pays them any mind and Steve brushes the encounter off, a little grateful for it since it helped him get out of his own head.

 

Down the street Skye hasn’t let out the breath she’d been holding the moment she used her whole body to basically hit Steve Rogers.  She doesn’t until she turns a corner into a pricey coffee shop and slumps next to Kate at the counter.  Kate has one of the shop’s fifteen dollar Italian espresso’s in her hand and extra waiting for Skye because was a bro like that.

Kate raises a critical brow, “You okay there?”

“I just said ‘oh shit’ in front of Captain America.”

“I’m sure George Washington will forgive you.   You get them?”

Skye slides a wallet over to her and begins tapping away at a cell phone that was definitely not hers.  It takes seconds for her to break into the phone, disable the GPS tracking, and take out any fail-safes Stark put into it.  All in all a little much for a freaking cell phone but this was Captain America, an Avenger, they were talking about so who knows what kinds of top secret data was floating around inside.  Not that that was what they were looking for anyway.  Mostly, they wanted to see what was on his playlist and what his favorite foods were.  Like…date foods.  Hobbies.  Date hobbies? 

Natasha told them after they got back from scoping Bucky out, they didn’t hang around very long because the they guy was terrifying and the window outside his apartment had flashed with a green light for a few weird seconds, that Bucky and Rogers had a shared history but Bucky probably doesn’t know anything much that would help him get closer.  When Skye gets into Rogers’ saved pics she doesn’t believe that’s going to be much of a problem.  Rogers’ has a bunch of old black and white photos of Bucky, well, a version of Bucky?  No metal arm for one thing.  And the pictures with both Rogers and Bucky in them?  Shared history was putting their connection lightly.  Rogers looked so gone on him, it was endearing and Skye felt more than a little creepy for seeing it.  A lot creepy actually, which only got worse as she flicked through his saved links.  Lots of Sad Old Man stuff, like when the old Penn Station and Yankee Stadium were demolished and photos of each in their old glory.  There are a bunch of buildings saved in there and a few pencil drawing technique articles for artists with advanced skill already, then finally she stumbles across a couple of art Museums Rogers marked with “to see”.  Skye shows it to Kate who’s been subtly thumbing through the wallet beneath the counter.

Kate nods, “Has potential.  How’s the music?”

“Nothing newer than Marvin Gaye, I think he’s working his way up or something with the way the songs are arranged.  Bucky’s taste is…a lot more varied.  I don’t think he’d like much of what Rogers’ has going on it’s mostly so…”

Kate leans over to hit the music app herself and grimaces, “Forties.”

“Yup.”

Bucky’s been around a long time, Skye was aware that just because he looked about twenty-eight he was much older than that.  According to Rogers’ photos, WW2 older.  Skye had always believed he was as much a super soldier as Captain America, she hadn’t realized just how right she was.  His tastes were very modern however, for the most part, with a little teaching Bucky could probably make a decent hacker with his tech know-how.  There were also so many things Skye didn’t know about him, she’d learned more in the past week than the past few years.  Still Natasha thought they were trust-worthy enough to help with something as important has the Winter Soldier’s heart, if the Black Widow thought you were good enough than you were good enough.  Made her a little warm inside to think about it actually, she wasn’t even being ironic.  The Black Widow approves should be a line of motivational posters…Skye makes a mental note about gifts next holiday season and wonders who the cheapest printers are.  Maybe the guy who does her ID’s would know.

“Well, Rogers’ got like, twenty coupons in his wallet for a dozen different places to eat in the city.  Looks like he plans to use them too.  I don’t know whether he’s like a college kid or my grandma.”  Kate smirks down the neat pile of coupons.  That too seems to be just stuff he’s wanting to _try_ not anything he already likes.  Sushi wasn’t for everyone, particularly people who grew up during the depression.  Bucky loved it though so if anyone could show Rogers’ the ropes it’d be him.

Skye peered around before it dawned on her why she was feeling unbalanced, “Where’s Wade?”

“Straight-up creepin’.”  Kate replies slipping on her trusty pair of violet-tinted aviator shades, “He shot me a text from his position.  He saw you make the lift, he’s very proud.”

Skye snorts.  She’s been on her own for a while now, she _knows things_ , thanks.  A little pickpocketing was nothing compared to that time she…well, let’s just say there were reasons she had to pull up the funds for a new public identity every few months.  With the amount of money they had now that was going to be a whole lot easier.  Skye could go anywhere, be anybody, yet there was nowhere else she’d rather be.  Funny how things worked out like that. 

“He’s got some ideas too, apparently he’s very romantically inclined.”  Kate continues.

“I believe it.”  No one knew that many Seal songs off the top of their head without some amount of permanent heart-eyes vision.

Kate’s phone vibrates and she checks it, pursing her lips, “Wade says Cap just realized he’s missing a few things.  We should split because he’s retracing his steps.”  She gets their espressos to go.  Again, such a bro.

 

Bucky feels violated.  Fucking violated.  He stares down at his transformed rifle and downs the rest of his beer, it had gotten warm but at least it was a dark Irish brand.  Bucky had slotted the bullet into place in the rifle’s chamber last night and the moment he did some type of magic happened.  Type of magic, like he knew fuck all about different types of magic but it was a magic from an assumedly large well of magic.  All of it fucking sucked.  The bullet had changed the gun, the same emerald green light always associated with Loki’s shiny tricks engulfed the weapon changing the very metal giving it a slight green sheen.  The stock became engraved silver filigree, and the scope became something far more advanced than anything being made today.  The rifle is unrecognizable; Bucky is trying pretty damn hard not to put his fist through his own wall.  The only thing stopping him is the future spackling that would have to be done.  Fuck that putty shit, it always got stuck between the metal plates of his hand.  Shit was worse than blood.  His hours of patience learned from his Winter Soldier training vanished when he had a wire brush in hand while his arm was covered in soap suds.

The point was something that was his and his alone no longer was, sometimes an object wasn’t just an object and Bucky was very protective of his possessions.  He’s got a couple missed calls from Clint even though Bucky texted when he spent longer out than he thought he was going to.  Like all damned night.  Natasha _did_ message him back, telling him to take all the time he needed to process, rest, or at least change into something a little less BDSM…her words.  He finds his most comfortable hoodie and a pair of well-worn jeans, pulls them all on unable to settle his sour expression into a more manageable blankness and finally brings himself to touch the rifle.  It feels warm, an energy runs through his fingertips almost like faintest of heartbeats.  Bucky grimaces then places the rifle into a gun case before rolling it in a blanket for less conspicuous transport.  The blanket is stripped from his bed leaving his bedroom more Spartan than it already was. 

Empty space never bothered him, the majority of his life had been empty space. Concrete walls, rooms far too similar to the room Zola’s digital consciousness was stored in, and freezing cold, all that was fine.  Sort of.   He made more of an effort in the living room on Natasha’s insistence, his décor was mostly book shelves and sci-fi movie posters Clint swiped from theatres for him whenever his eyes lingered too long on one of them.  Having too many things still bothered him, because if he bothered to keep a thing then it mattered.  If a thing mattered then it would be that much harder to leave behind if he had to.

He had enough trouble with detaching himself from the few objects he’d horded already, his transformed rifle was proof of that.  Clint and Natasha would call it progress.  Bucky called it fucking irritating.

Outside Bucky can see no traces of Kate’s crew.  They were definitely a crew now, whether they realized it or not.  People get thrown together often in their line of work, most of the time they split soon as the job is done simply due to the loner type this profession catered to.  Every once and a while people just worked and they stuck together afterwards.  Or in his, Clint’s, and Natasha’s case for-freaking-ever.  Skye in particular could use some more reliable people in her life.  It wasn’t his place to look out for the kid but it wasn’t like he could help it, that just sort of happened too.  Kate Bishop was good people, he trusted her as much he was able.  Wade Wilson was…an unknown variable who thus far had proven to be dependable in his own special way.  Skye liked him, that was good enough for now.  What they were up to last night remained a mystery, but he had bigger problems at the moment.  Fucking.  Cosmic.

Also if he didn’t eat like four burritos soon he was going to pass out, more like get a little wobbly but still functionality would not be optimal.  Five maybe.  Depends on what they have rolling around under that high-beam lightbulb at the corner gas station.  Bucky would not recommend gas station food unless you had the metabolism of a super-soldier or a death wish.  The death would not come swiftly to you, it would come in the night when you least expected it and drag you into the bathroom where you would expire pitifully under the reaper’s merciless gaze.  Natasha had informed him the two had not saved him any pizza so he was going to have to forage for himself anyway.  They didn’t joke about pizza.  Left-overs wasn’t a thing that happened.  Ever. 

First, he was going to drop of his magically infected rifle off at the office to show Tasha and Clint what the hell took him so long.  Guns, then burritos.  Guns always have the priority…and his friends.  Okay, friends first, but then guns were like the right there beneath friends.

Speaking of friends, friends gave one a sense of validation when most needed which was exactly the feeling Bucky had at the indignant look Clint gave his Lokified rifle .  The archer shook his head and muttered, “Fucking magic.” in the most defeated tone Bucky had ever heard out of him.

Natasha canted her own head and smirked, “Certainly has more style now.”

Bucky glowered at her, “I will fight you.”

“You would lose.”  Natasha pouts sympathetically and pats him on the arm.

“Fifty bucks on Natasha.”  Clint proclaims.

She cocks an eyebrow, “Just fifty?”

“All the bucks?”

“Better.”

If they ever actually made good on all their hypothetical bets at least one of them could’ve bought their way to space by now, though the way the world was going space kept coming to them to them first.

Bucky cracked a smile, as fast as his lips quirked up Bucky grabs the nearby Natasha and hits the floor.  Clint does the same without question and pulls the couch over with him shielding in a small way all three of them.  Less than half a second later a piercing howl rips through their small office, rattling the walls, rattling the very bones in their bodies.  A missile maybe, Bucky can’t place the sound.  He knew weapons, damn-near all of them. 

This one was new.

 An explosion sends pieces of wood and drywall over them, beyond the ringing in his ears Bucky can hear the building groan.  Below them the floor gives way.

 

Maria Hill watches blurry satellite footage of the building her three observation targets operate out of plume an unnatural color of smoke.  She enhances the image until she can make out the ragged whole blown into the brick of the foremost side near the top floor.  Maria had to do three solid days of hacking prior to just see the street.  Romanov was _good_ , perhaps exceptional was a better word, their entire neighborhood was nothing but a black box if anyone tried to go looking.  Doubtful anyone ever had.  It was just a normal block in New York, nothing special.  The government would chock it up to a computer error and move on, especially when there were so many bigger concerns in the city.  The Avengers attracted every kind of threat out there and the government drones at the intelligence agencies weren’t paid enough, Maria would know.

She adjusts the screen until she confirms her suspicions.  Maria reaches across her desk retrieving a small black stone smooth to the touch other than a carved runic symbol on one side.  She doesn’t quite sigh, her shoulders make the motion of wanting to but it never comes out.  Using a phone would be simpler, Loki did everything in a roundabout grand way though.  There was nothing to do for it.  She rubs the rune and says a series of words in a language she doesn’t even know under her breath.  The stone hums until Maria places it on the flat surface of her desk.  An almost holographic figure of Loki from his chest up appears projected in wavering gold as if he were standing behind a sheer curtain.  He grins, his eyes finding hers easily as if they were standing in the same room.  Maria was not impressed.  It was still very creepy.

Without any sort of preamble Maria starts in, “I have confirmation on Thanos’ hunter.  He sent a Kree by the looks of him.  The magic you imbued the bullet with was enough to draw him there, just as you expected.”

“And the Soldier?”

“No visual.”  Maria narrows her eyes, “You aren’t worried are you?”

Loki sneers, “Don’t be foolish.”

“If the Soldier can’t defeat a Kree bounty hunter—”

“I don’t need to be reminded of my position, Midgardian, you should remember yours.”

“Of course, sir.  I have to ask though, why Barnes?”

Smiling at some joke only he understand Loki replies, “He’s way of defying odds.  As well as not dying when having fallen from a great height.  I like that in a mass murderer.  If a simple shooter was all that was needed I’d have had you take the shot, you did well enough last time.”

Maria shifts in her chair unable to shake the sick feeling in her stomach at the memory.  A “thank you sir” stumbles on her tongue never to be vocalized.  Loki had been very specific on the ammunition she used, all to manipulate the playing field albeit temporarily.

Director Fury had never seen her coming.  He never saw her at all. 

In the end it wouldn’t matter.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone now, Fury was gone, and Maria was playing the game on a grander scale—doing the same job with a different employer.  The part of her that knew she was being controlled was clawing to get out.  Every passing second that part was gathering intel, coming up with contingencies, always working for a way out but never actually doing anything.  She couldn’t.

She couldn’t and she wasn’t sure if her mind was going to survive this.

But hell, if an ex-carnie could do it…

“Inform me if the soldier dies.  It would be inconvenient and rather disappointing.”

“Understood, sir.”

The golden image fizzles out and Maria throws the stone into a drawer on her desk.  The image on her computer screen hasn’t changed much, the smoke was becoming more grey and down the street Maria could make out the tell-tale flashing of police lights.  When the winds pick up enough to clear some of the smoke Maria can make out pieces of the building still crumbling and people running down the street.  There’s a lot of movement on the ground but it takes minutes for Maria to fully see the Kree and the Winter Soldier fighting hand-to-hand in the street.  The Soldier was using moves that were simultaneously worthy of a gymnast and a bar brawler.  The Soldier was moving furiously, angrily? 

Maria realizes why a moment later when she sees lying in the rubble not far away from the fight are the motionless bodies of a blonde man and a red-headed woman covered in dust.  Maria hoped the Soldier was fighting to protect them not to avenge them, people always stood a better chance at winning when protecting those they loved rather than seeking revenge for a death they could do nothing about.

But then again the way the Winter Soldier was fighting, she wasn’t sure how much of a person he was right now.

 

 

_tbc_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for dropping another building on Bucky Barnes. He does not deserve this nonsense. Next update will be after Civil War so this is me wishing you all strength and sending my love through what will no doubt be a difficult time for us all aka: Captain America: Civil War. But before that I’ll be on a little hundred and twenty mile hike so hopefully I won’t like die of exposure or lack of wifi before I get to see the movie or type up some new chapters. As always thank you all for the comments and kudos, y’all are the best.


	19. Chapter 19

 

Chapter 19

 

The Kree were a warrior race.  They were strong, fierce, and hard to miss on the battlefield with their blue skin, high-tech gear, and impressive stature.  As such they spent a good portion of their collective history conquering sizeable parts of the universe.  That was all in the past.  Or so they said.  The fact they had connections to Thanos went unspoken about.  No one wanted ties to the Mad Titan however just because it went unspoken didn’t mean it wasn’t widely considered a fact.  Bucky doesn’t know any of this.  He wouldn’t care if he did.  What he knows is that the creature before him is stronger than him, better equipped, and just blew a literal fucking whole in his life.  Bucky’s aware Natasha and Clint are down—covered in dust but thankfully free of the bigger pieces of rubble, probably unconscious and if he lets up his assault for one second they’re dead. So is he, but that won’t matter without Clint and Natasha.  There was no him without them.  No…that wasn’t quite right.  There would be a him, it just wouldn’t be a version the world could handle.  The Winter Soldier without tethers?  Bucky didn’t know who that person would be, he just knew it would be terrifying.  For the world.

The cerulean warrior’s rocket launcher, because fuck it Buck didn’t know what else to call it, had more than one round in the barrel.  Luckily the only building the warrior hits was the one housing their office the rest of the rounds are directed at Bucky.  Something about narrowly escaping multiple explosions felt real personal despite the Kree’s un-chatty disposition and razor focus that screamed professional.  Bucky faces a relentless barrage of blast after blast.  After what seems like forever and about a half dozen smoking black holes in the road the huge weapon needs reloading and Bucky closes the distance with a quick roll then swipes out with a leg to topple his enemy.  Only that’s not how it works out.  Bucky sweeps his leg out low and it feels like hitting a reinforced block of cement.  The warrior’s armor glows at the point of impact but otherwise it’s unharmed.  The warrior grunts a little before snatching Bucky up by the throat.  Bucky’s legs don’t swing free for long, he swings himself up with all the momentum he can muster, wraps his strong legs around the arm and forces the warrior off balance.  He pries the offending hand off his neck with his metal arm and doesn’t stop for one second when he lands back on solid ground to send a powerful uppercut to the warrior’s exposed jaw.

The Kree groans and stumbles back, still it doesn’t fall.  Rather it drops the exhausted missile launcher and reaches behind him with both arms retrieving matching crimson daggers pulsating with electrical energy.  Lasers.  They were fucking _laser daggers_.  Fucking Christ.  Under different circumstances Bucky would probably be impressed.  The nerdy part of him would’ve been taking notes.  Nerdy, silent notes.  The more he learned about the universe around them, space, the more the gold paint on it tarnished.  He’d be sadder about if he wasn’t trying so hard to not be brutally killed in the middle of the damned street.  Bucky has seen really gross shit go down on this street, not the way he was planning on going out.  If he was disintegrated he wouldn’t have to worry about the muck caked on the asphalt, so silver lining he guessed.

Twin laser blades whirl past Bucky’s head on either side, he dodges in the nick of time but not fast enough to lose a few strands of hair to the surprising heat of the weapons.  Right, fuckin’ lasers.  The blades whip behind him like boomerangs and come zooming back his direction and into the Kree’s hands.  Even better, laser daggers that returned to their master on command.  Just.  Fuckin’.  Great.  The Kree’s massive shoulders shake as if laughing though the alien makes no noise.  Bucky growls gathering his strength, everything he’s got, and charges.  The Kree slashes, Bucky moves around each deadly swipe with expert grace Natasha would be proud of.  He’s able to grab one armor-clad arm with both hands and twist it around the warrior’s back.  Bucky hears a tell-tale _pop_ and knows he’s at least dislocated the arm.  The armor fluctuates the same glow as before, the arm jerks—pops again right back into place then the next thing Bucky knows he’s being thrown hard backwards.  He uses his metal hand to grind to a halt on his hand and knees, Bucky lunges forward punching the inside of the warrior’s right knee.  The knee buckles, the armor glows and the warrior is right as rain again.  As fast as Bucky can hurt him the asshole recovers, it’s the armor.  If he’s gonna get anywhere he’s got to take care of the armor first.

Bucky lands a quick session of punches all along the warrior’s sternum, they make the Kree grunt but that’s not Bucky’s purpose.  Testing for weaknesses, also a damned good distraction while his metal fingers grip the slight neck opening of the armor.  Bucky’s arm whirs with effort, he can feel the pull straight down into his spine.  Fuck, it _hurts_ , but Bucky doesn’t let go.  The Kree catches on and tries to toss Bucky away, he succeeds but not before Buck takes a good chunk of his armor with him. 

The metal armor doesn’t curl around the torn edges like most metals Bucky’s shredded before, it comes off in one solid piece with exposed wiring trailing behind.  Flickering erupts across the Kree’s armor, the pale glowing fluctuates on and off but the warrior pays no attention to it.  The Kree lands a kick to Bucky’s chest that knocks the wind out of him and is on top of Bucky in a millisecond bringing both his blades down at the same time.  Bucky shifts his hips up kicks the Kree off and rolls backward.  He hears a weapon power up and fire just as he whips his head up, his long strands of hair obscure his vision not that it would matter—Bucky feels the burning hole low on his chest.  The crimson blades are left imbedded in the asphalt but the Kree holds a small pistol straight out of one of Bucky’s shitty sci-fi novels.

Bucky gasps and tilts over just shy of collapsing face-first.  The wound refuses to stop burning like acid shot straight at his chest, the shot burned through three inches of flesh and stops short going through bone.  He feels every centimeter of it.  His serum’s effects kick in the moment he’s hurt but not fast enough to keep his reaction time effective.  The Kree fires again, Bucky scrapes by barely keeping his kneecap.  What he wouldn’t give for his body armor right now. 

Bucky takes a quick deep breath and charges forward once more.  The Kree fires at his head, Bucky dodges and rears back enough for room to line up a hit that never happens, at least not coming from his end.  The Kree, however, lands a perfectly well-aimed fist into Bucky’s already disoriented face.  Bucky’s head snaps back, his ears are ringing, he knows his nose and one (maybe both) of his cheek bones have been broken.  No one would be able to tell with the amount of blood pouring down his face.  Bucky lands hard on his back on the debris-littered street.  Blindly he grabs the biggest brick near him and hurls it at the Kree who easily smacks it away but the second between Bucky throwing the measly brick and the Kree warrior taking the time to knock it away is important to Bucky’s survival.

First, the second lets him get his ass off the fucking ground. Secondly, he’s able to spot a piece of old-fashioned metal pipe.  Third, that second is all it takes for Steve Fucking Rogers to come running up like a Big Damn Hero™ behind the Kree distracting it long enough for Bucky to get that pipe and ram it into the vulnerable spot he created when he pulled a piece of the asshole’s armor off.  The Kree roars and Steve lands a spinning kick from behind making the Kree falls forward and after some violent spasming and useless glowing from the armor goes still.

Bucky feels the creepy sensation of his nasal tissue stitching back together and spits out more blood, he looks up at Steve’s worried face through his hair that’s now shiny with blood, “I had ‘em on the ropes.”  Bucky slurs more than he’s proud of.

For some reason Steve looks weirdly touched by the words and replies, “I know you did, Buck…are you…are you alright?”

Bucky swipes his hand across his face and grimaces, his cheekbones weren’t quite where they should be and here this guy was looking at him same as always.  Like he was perfect.  _Jesus_ , Bucky valiantly ignores the warmth blossoming in his chest that has nothing to do with a plasma pistol wound, what a sap. 

“Fuckin’ aces.  Where the fuck did you—”Bucky’s question is interrupted by the Kree _moving again_ , the Kree shambles to its feet and Bucky can’t help his incredulous disbelief, “This _bitch_.”

“Get down!”  A gruff feminine voice orders and Buck knows better to disobey a lady’s order, at least when that order is coming from a pissed-off Natasha Romanov sitting up surrounded by rubble and using a piece of their office wall to stabilize Bucky’s Loki-fied rifle as she took aim.

Bucky grabs Steve and hits the ground with an _oof_.  His battered body would have felt the impact worse if he weren’t using Captain America as a cushion.  The Kree was angrily warbling in a language Bucky couldn’t understand but sounded a whole lot like glass being put through a blender.  Whatever he was saying Bucky did understand one word, “Loki.” 

Natasha pulls the trigger.  The sound the rifle makes was reminiscent of thunder except compressed down into a couple of seconds and three times as loud.  The actual bullet leaves green lightning in its wake toward the Kree hanging for a worrying amount of time in the air like a tear in the universe after blowing off the Kree’s head completely from its shoulders.  Nothing but a smoking crater is left where the head used to be.  The body falls to its knees then to the ground in a massive limp pile.

“Jesus, Natalia, you couldn’t have done that a little sooner?”  Bucky goes for nonchalant, it’s ruined by him letting go of Steve to nudge the body with the toe of his boot.

Natasha gives him a watery smile, “You know how much I like to make an entrance.”

Bucky scoffs, “Asshole.”

In the same tone Natasha snarks back, “Bitch.”

“How’s Clint?”  He asks dragging his aching body toward the two with Steve trailing close behind.

Slowly, Natasha eases herself up more and pulls Clint closer, “Breathing…prettier than _you_.”

“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

Natasha ignores him, she knows Clint is alive but she takes his pulse anyway.  An irregular pulse could tell you a lot of things however Clint’s was just fine.  She checks him over for broken bones and bleeding too and finds nothing.  Both of them only got concussions, they were lucky or they reacted well.  Both more than likely.  The only reason Bucky wasn’t half buried with them was he’d been covering Natasha and got blown further away because of it.  Natasha was able to grab the rifle thanks to the moments that cover provided. 

She looks back up at Bucky and frowns in way that’s nowhere near sympathetic, “I think we’re going to have to re-break your nose.”

To his right Steve cringes at the prospect.  Bucky reaches up and cracks his nose straight again, Steve looks like he might swaddle Bucky up and run him to the nearest hospital.   Gruff and sticky with blood Bucky asks, “Did I get it?”

“ _Da_ , you Neanderthal.”  Natasha gets to her feet, dusts off her clothes though it hardly removes any grime and regards Steve coolly, “Why’s freedom fries here?”  More like how did he know where they were, the police only work so fast and they had a series of conditions that had to be met before any of the Avengers were alerted.  Natasha could hear the police sirens a block down, they had more sense these days when it came to dealing with aliens.  The whole street was probably evacuated, the perimeter wouldn’t be that far away.

Clint groans.  It’s a good general sign for his continued well-being.

“I was pick-pocketed.”  Steve says defensive, as if that explained anything.

Clint blinks and tries to scrub the dirt away from his eyes, problem is his hands are also covered in dirt.  He uses the inside of his shirt with marginally more success.  His hearing aids are blown all to hell but he doesn’t bother signing, not like the three people talking above him were looking anyway.  When he asks, “Why are you two holding hands?”  His voice is so loud they all jump. 

Bucky and Steve, the offenders here, whip their hands apart like they didn’t even realize they were doing it.  They hadn’t.  Of course Clint notices the really fucking weird headless body lying on the ground too.  The RPG-looking contraption not far from it was probably the thing that…blew up their office.  More than office.  So Clint was feeling like shit in all kinds of ways and making Captain America blush plus Bucky made up for that in the tiniest microscopic way.  Clint was kind of an asshole when he was miserable.  Misery was meant to be shared.  Not his best bro moment though evidenced by the glare on Bucky’s face made three times as threatening with all the blood.  Clint’s seen him look worse.

Natasha signs to him how Steve chased some thief down this way who stole his phone and wallet—Clint cracked up, couldn’t help it.  Captain America getting robbed in his home town it was so wrong it was hilarious.  He doesn’t laugh long because of Steve’s judgey face and also his ribs were on fire.  Steve being there to help was just fate apparently.  Natasha told him all this while looking him directly in the eye and with a totally normal and open expression.  She was obviously hiding something.  That was something to figure out later.  Right then, he needed to wrap his ribs—likely bruised, and get out of sight.  They all did.  The cops were already starting to edge closer now that the brawl was over called to be braver without S.H.I.E.L.D. backup though as wary as ever.  Clint glances over to Natasha.  They silently agree to head to Bed-Stuy.  Clint had plenty of his own medical supplies, their office was supposed to have been four times as secure as their own apartments, still it was compromised so they’re were going to go wherever the hell they wanted. More specifically where they were comfortable.  Natasha and Bucky were too…Red Room, to allow Steve Rogers to follow them to their own humble abodes.  Clint didn’t give a fuck, as long as those bulging biceps were used to carry him.

Steve does carry Clint, nonplussed about the whole thing.  Good ol’ Cap.   Good ol’ bulging biceps.  Clint definitely hit his head harder than he thought.  The vertical of the four run it.  It probably looks hilarious.  Or it probably looked like they were desperate survivors of some type of terrorist attack, he can’t tell either way because his eyes close on their own the minute Steve picks him up under Bucky’s sharp orders.  Bucky too easily allowed Steve’s own promise to not come looking for him to slip away under the circumstances.  Was Cap really there by chance?  Doubtful.   Natasha being Natasha double doubtful.  If Clint could hear Cap rehash the events of the theft with his photographic memory of the girl responsible that would have been triple doubtful.

Soon as his wooziness subsided Bucky was there with his extra pair of hearing aids which Clint had thought he’d lost like a month ago.  Of course Bucky would know exactly where they were, Bucky knew where his own supply drop sites from the freaking seventies were.  Popping them back in again didn’t help his head any.  Clint had to keep up with super-soldiers, he didn’t have time to whine.  Doesn’t mean he didn’t want to.  Funny, he didn’t remember being carried up the stairs to his apartment (damn elevator hadn’t been fixed in three years).  Yet there he was on his own couch with Lucky’s cold nose nuzzling the side of his neck.

The first thing he hears is Natasha’s displeased, “We’re out of coffee.”

“Damn kids.”  Clint mumbles, first his cheese then all his coffee.  Coffee was supposed to be sacred damn it.  At least replace it.  Next chance he got he was going to narrow his eyes very sternly at Kate.

Steve captures Lucky’s attention once the dog made sure Clint wasn’t dying, new people trumped everything apparently.  Lucky excitedly snuffles at Cap’s hands until the Sentinel of Freedom flops his ass on Clint’s dingy floor to give the dog all the attention he deserves.  Clint’s heart softens toward Steve Rogers.

Bucky can relate.  So he stops looking at him altogether for now.  He disappears into Clint’s bathroom to wash up a little, the dried blood was beginning to feel like a day-old mud mask.  Yes, he knew what those felt like.  Natasha tested everything she used on him and Clint first.  It wasn’t so bad.  Blood was not a good facial cleanser by any means.  He scrubs until his face is pink and his shirt is soaked with water.  Natasha pokes her head around the corner, that woman had no regard for privacy.  She smiles.  It’s suspicious.

“Good news.”  She announces.

“So far things have been pretty shitty.  Hit me.”  Bucky says taking off his wet shirt.

“The rifle is still loaded.”

“What?  How?”

She shrugs, “Magic?  I checked the chamber, looks like it’s ready to go. We know the gun works, I think Loki put us through a test-run on purpose.”

“So do I.  Not really worth the cost.”  The rifle might have unlimited ammo, if it did Bucky was going to love using it to ventilate Loki’s green-loving ass.

“James, we’ve had to start over before.  This is no different.  We all just got too …comfortable.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natasha shrugs again, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want it to be.”  Truth was, Bucky was tired of always running.  They paid their dues.  They should be able to settle if they wanted.  Someplace other than vetted Siberian cabins or abandoned corners of the subway.

“Neither do I, solnyshka.”  Natasha hands him one of Clint’s shirt, knowing he’d need one before he realized he’d need one.  It’s fucking purple.  Why were they always fucking purple?  Hawkeye had a complex, Bucky would bet money it had something to do with circus tights too.  With Clint everything  somehow had something to do with circus tights.

Natasha’s stance changes, a very subtle angling of hips and shoulders.  Sincerity shifts into straight-up leering.  Bucky moves the plates in his arm and pretends to be very interested in them.  She clicks her nails along the door frame, somehow her nail polish had remained unchipped and perfect…what kind of witchcraft?  Bumping him with her hip Natasha makes room for herself in the tiny bathroom so she can clean up too.  The longer the red-head takes the more suspicious Bucky grows.

Natasha strips down to the black tank top beneath her shirt, she manages to look freshly showered by time she’s done, “Sooo.”

Natasha doesn’t have to say what she’s talking about for Bucky know exactly what she’s talking about,“We’re not talking about it.”

“But we’re holding hands?”

“We’re not doing anything.”

“…’Kay.”

“Don’t ‘kay me, Natalia.”

“I’m dropping it I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“You never drop anything.”  Bucky says moving back a little to give her room to tie her hair up.

Natasha _tuts_ , “Not true, remember that time you had to get real close to that Prime Minister and you borrowed my lace—”

Bucky grins triumphant, “You just proved my point.”

“Pfft, _fine_.  Hurry it up, krasivyy.  Or I’m going to steal your man.”  At that Natasha saunters away, her ponytail sways in a way that reminds him of a cheerleader.  He imagines the type of cheer team she would’ve been on and decides the world is better off that it never existed.

Bucky was sure he hadn’t reached out for Steve, he didn’t remember Steve reaching out for him either, it just sort of happened.  Felt natural to a point that he didn’t even notice.  It was a…nice, feeling?  Bucky takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out centering himself.  Steve flicks his eyes up and down his form when he makes his way backing to the living room.  Bucky is suddenly very aware how tight Clint’s clothes are on him and normally that was fine, he was aware of how he looked, right now it almost brings a blush to his cheeks.  Almost.  He takes another less noticeable centering breath.

“Hey,” Clint croaks, “We’re you guys really holding hands or was I seeing things?”

Goddamn it.

“Shut the fuck up, Barton.”

Clint makes a noise that’s between affirmative and affronted.  Natasha sits at one of Clint’s stools in his kitchen with the rifle propped on the counter.  Steve is…giving Bucky his full attention.   The Captain stands, much to Lucky’s disapproval, looks at each of them and asks, “So.  Does anyone wanna tell me what that was all about?”

The three assassins listlessly echo, “No.”

Steve crosses his arms, Clint thinks he looks abnormally big in his apartment, and clenches his jaw, “You want to try that again?”  He’s got steel in his voice.  Steve promised to give Bucky time, but he could see when a situation was heading South.  If shit was going down, he was going to have to try to stop it.  Steve said as much out loud.

“Is he allowed to swear?” Clint mumbled into the couch cushions.  It hits him the couch from their office is gone.  The whole office is gone.  His chest hurts and it’s got nothing to with his bruises.

“You know, I was in the Army.”  Steve defends in a tired way that implied he had to have that conversation a lot.  He did.  It was really fucking annoying.

“I know.  Still,”  Clint puts on an old-timey radio voice accent, “ _Captain America_.” 

Lucky jumps up on the couch with Clint making him wince in pain and effectively stop prodding Steve.  Lucky doesn’t move.  The dog totally did it on purpose.  Bucky squints his eyes at Lucky, he was way too smart for a dog.  Lucky looks back at Bucky and thumps his tail once.  Way too smart.  Steve hides a smile.  The word endearing flutters across Bucky’s brain before he brutally crushes it, he’d imagined it as a little red white and blue butterfly.  Which was, yeah, weird even by Winter Soldier standards.  Steve seemed to be waiting for some type of group reply.  If more guys like the last asshole were going to be thrown at them they could handle it, now they knew to expect it.  Soon as they regrouped they were going to have to move on.  Burning another safehouse wasn’t an option, not one that mattered.  Bucky had already sent a text to Kate to come pick up Lucky for safety reasons.  She’d be picking up Liho too no doubt.  That would be a fun ride in her VW.

“Buck, tell me what’s going on.  I could help.”  Steve was always so damned earnest.  At first it was somewhat annoying then Bucky realized Steve really meant it.  After all this time he still wore his heart out on his damned sleeve.  In a way that was brave.  Bucky’s sleeves were bulletproof. 

“Déjà vu,” Clint mutters.

The three of them don’t need Steve Rogers, as impressive as he is.  Bucky walked away once before.  He could do it again.  Steve also saved his ass today.  Bucky could tell himself having Steve around would be a way of paying him back.  Owing debts wasn’t tolerated.  Or he could admit to the truth.

Ha ha.

 No.

Natasha sighs momentarily stopping her fiddling with the weapon and rolls her eyes, “Eto tvoy vybor.” 

Russians throwing him under the bus, what was new?  Bucky heaves a silent inhale, lets it out very slowly, third time was the charm, “Alright, Stevie.  Sit your ass down.  And Clint did you know Wade is asleep under your bed?”

Bucky noticed the snoring on his way out of the bathroom.  Natasha had known the moment they collapsed through the door like the dwarves from the Hobbit.

“What!?”

“Oh yeah,” Natasha says, “I was wondering about that.”

“ _What_!?”

Steve takes in the myriad of expressions on their faces and can’t glean how he should feel about the mention of a new person, he has to ask, “Who’s Wade?”

Clint just groans.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Tbc_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solnyshka--Sunshine
> 
> Krasivyy—Handsome
> 
> Eto tvoy vybor—It’s your choice.
> 
> Boy, when I said slow burn I meant it, huh?  Hand-holding!  Victorian ladies cover thine eyes!  Y’all are honestly so patient you guys deserve all the tasty bagels.  Unless you don’t eat bagels in which case how does it feel to be above us mere mortals?
> 
> Raise your hand if Cap3 destroyed you and your whole bloodline.


	20. Chapter 20

 

**Chapter 20**

 

Maria caught the transmission originating from the dead Kree soon after the police quarantined the body.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone so the remains would be going to the C.I.A. instead.  The signal could have been caught on their equipment too if they knew what to look for.  The C.I.A., in Hill’s humble opinion, was useless.  It was cute—the way they thought they had an inkling of what was going on out there.  Perhaps she shouldn’t be so harsh a judge, half of it was probably her bitterness over S.H.I.E.L.D. being dissolved, but Maria was also in no place to judge another’s competence when she herself loses that very same signal she was so snotty about picking up.  It blips out of existence after it passes the furthest satellite orbiting Earth.  She should have been able to track it beyond that point.  Unless…the signal reached its receiver.  Maria had been sitting at her desk for hours, keeping tabs mostly, now she stands up and ignores the way her back pops in protest to retrieve her keys.  Loki wasn’t going to come out of hiding long enough to kill that signal.  He would say it’s pointless to prolong the inevitable.  She knows this because more often than not Loki was in her head.  The Asgardian believed they were alike, she agreed that they were in a few ways.  However Maria Hill, despite being under Loki’s thrall, when presented with an “inevitable” bad outcome would try to stop it anyway.

 

 

How Wade Wilson knew where everything was in Clint’s apartment wasn’t as disturbing to anyone as it should’ve been.  By now Clint was convinced everyone knew where more things were in his place than him.  Even Lucky.  Especially Lucky.  Wade offers them the flimsy excuse that he was “tired” and the girls were hogging all the fun stuff on their current mission. 

To which Clint and Bucky both say, “What current mission?” 

Wade’s mask contorts into a vague impression of what the expression on his actual face would be.  Which was terror.  Because the Black Widow was right freaking there. Natasha wasn’t worried.  She is the type to breed loyalty, through one means or another. 

Steve takes Wade in surprising stride, he’s seen some shit.  Before and after he was incased in ice.  A guy armed to the teeth and who refuses to take his mask off?  Pffft, no big deal.  He does that not-quite-smile thing Bucky fucking hates.  Wade takes a step back like he’s just noticing Steve is there at all. 

Once Wade _does_ the resulting dramatic swooning was expected by everyone.  He falls into the good Captain’s arms, where Clint would have deservedly dropped him Steve catches him.  Bucky hears Wade whimper, it takes a certain amount of his self-control to not referee them a part.  He was The Winter Goddamned Soldier.  And also not jealous.  Natasha catches his eyes and her face transforms from a causal neutral to _delighted_.

Not good.

“Wow,” Wade says with a Sothern belle inflection to his voice, “if I’d known Captain America was going to be at my doorstep—”

“Not your doorstep.”  Clint interjects going mostly unheard.

“—I would have made more lasagna.”

Now, Clint, Bucky, and Natasha were not swayed by any conventional means of coercion.  They were immune to torture, threats, and a litany of paralytic poisons.  However the one thing they would fall victim to each and every time?  Free food.  They worked hard for their money and most of it went to keeping off the radar, and surprise surprise no one was teaching assassin’s under Hydra and the Red Room how to scramble eggs nor was anyone teaching a runaway carnie kid with a bow and arrow anything beyond working the coffee maker and picking pockets. 

“Super-metabolisms and all, I figured you guys would be hungry.”  Wade dislodges himself from Steve’s arms and his mask stretches into a smile.  They’re all somewhat unused to that level of sincerity.

They end up standing around the kitchen while Wade heats up the lasagna, no one asks about where the apron came from.  Clint leans on Natasha more than he is supporting his own weight.  No one comments on that either.  Steve eyes the kitchen and takes in the eager expressions on the assassins’ faces.

“So, none of you can actually…cook?” Steve’s question is so mundane Bucky cracks a smile.

“We have the important things down.”  He says.

Clint hums, “Coffee,”

“Mac n’ Cheese.”

“Bagels.”

“Vodka.”  Natasha breezily offers.

Steve scoffs and leans comfortably against the counter, “That last one doesn’t count.”

Natasha grins, “Never had bathtub vodka, Rogers?”

“No.  That sounds terrifying.”

Clint groans, “It _is_.”

Natasha and Bucky slide into their Russian accents, “Weak Americans.”

Steve blinks at the accent Bucky seems so at home in, it filters in and out when he’s upset but most of the time Bucky sounds like he always did.  Brooklyn incarnate. 

Bucky thins his lips, “Sorry.”  Like he knows exactly what Steve’s thinking about.  Steve was pretty sure he couldn’t.  As far as he could tell telepathy wasn’t among the new things Bucky could do.  Christ, that would be embarrassing.

“No, no, it’s…different.  I like it.”  Steve tries for reassuring and truth be told, he more than liked the little peeks he got of the grumbly accent.  There was nothing about Bucky he wouldn’t accept.  Not a piece he wasn’t going to love, not in the past and not now.  Though his past was fresher than Bucky’s.  He forgot that sometimes.  Steve was trying not to, for both of their sakes.  Bucky looks at him in a way that makes him very aware of every molecule in his body.  Bucky always made him feel like that ever since they were kids; sometimes it was hard to look him in the eyes unless they were arguing.  They’re not kids anymore and the feeling has a whole different set of connotations to it.  Bucky makes a dismissive noise and the moment is gone when he moves his gaze to the fire hazard Hawkeye called an oven.

Tomato sauce and cheese soon scent the air.  By the time the oven starts to make the enclave a little too warm the dish is ready to be served.  Clint has a finite number of plates so Wade makes due with a couple of couple of bowls and a plastic cutting board that still had the barcode sticker on the front boasting its purchase from Target.  Kate had bought it.  For some reason no one is surprised Wade’s cooking is actually pretty damned good, they only had their own to go on so there wasn’t much of a comparison to work with.  Steve was probably on the same level, Sam had been teaching him a few things once Steve admitted to sticking to the tried and true methods of the 40’s, ergo boiling everything.  Sam was horrified, Steve was offended because fuck this decade there was nothing wrong with his mom’s boiled potato recipe.  It required salt and everything.  Sam somehow became even more horrified that Steve considered a smattering of salt on food “everything”, he spent the next hour introducing Steve to the wonders of the spice cabinet.  Steve wished he could say he walked away more knowledgeable, not so much, he was happy to walk away at all.  Sam could get…intense about cooking.

Eating together was a quiet, awkward in that way all meals were awkward when you were eating with someone you usually don’t.  Reminded Steve of shwarma after the battle of New York, except no one here trusted him that much and he was surrounded by assassins and no shwarma.  Wade was eating with his mask pulled up just enough to eat but Steve could see the damage to his skin.  Wade notices Steve noticing and pulls the mask down a little further without a word, Steve knew that feeling.  Pity was the last thing he’d wanted when he was 90 pounds of nothing but health problems and anger so he doesn’t give Wade any pity or sad eyes.  Rather he looks down at his lasagna and says, “Could use more salt.”

For a long minute no one says anything.  Then Bucky’s lips curl and he shakes his head, “Salt.  Nothing but fucking salt.”

“Sometimes pepper.”  Steve adds recognizing that Bucky is recalling the same memory he was.

Bucky snorts, “Only on Sundays.”

“Are we talking about Bucky’s personality or what?”  Clint asks rightfully confused.  Bucky flings a little tomato sauce at him, with tomato sauce dripping down Clint’s sullen face the awkwardness is mostly broken.

Wade immediately starts in on Steve with a hundred and one questions about the Avengers as Clint tries and fails to return the tomato sauce favor to Bucky.  No one dares to flick anything Natasha’s way.  There was no such thing as a food fight with Natasha Romanov, only food wars.  Whole buckets of KFC fried chicken would be stuffed in pillow cases, wasabi would replace toothpaste, and the dreaded eggplant would replace every other edible thing in the fridge.  As was, surely obvious by now, the Russian Way. 

The food was gone pretty fast, serum-enhanced individuals didn’t leave much in their wake.  Clint was always one for leftovers, the carnie in him had a tendency to hoard food and value leftovers.  Except for when Tasha and Bucky were over, they were bottomless pits, Rogers was the same.  Wade was too enthralled to do much eating, Clint thinks it had to do more with self-consciousness than anything else.  Wade was…complex.  When he wasn’t busy being all of those other things that got under Clint’s skin, out of everyone Clint probably had the most patience for the guy.  That patience would wear thin just as quickly if Wade weren’t so damn good at just about everything.  Wade hadn’t been sleeping under Clint’s bed like a creeper to make them dinner, he was doing a supply drop.

Wade gathers up the dishes with something of a prance to his step then twirls and deposits a plain house key on the kitchen counter, “I’m going to be a great housewife someday.  Clint.  Clinton.  I’m going to make a great housewife, are you listening?”

Bucky swipes the key up first, turns it over and reads, “103?”

“That’s my neighbor’s place,” Clint narrows his eyes at Wade, accusation there in a single look.

“The lady and her kid are fiiiine.  I needed space, and it was safer in case someone knew where you lived.”

“What did you bring?”  Natasha asks. She had given Kate some specifics of what they would need, the less they were out in the open the better.

Wade’s smile stretches his mask wide, “ _Everything_.”

 

 

A S.H.I.E.L.D badge was worth about as much as a Blockbuster membership card these days but there was a time when the organization was completely secret, Maria had a few other cards up her sleeve.  Namely a perfect C.I.A. forgery, so good the name and I.D. number would ping an agent with her face that didn’t really exist.  The suits they have guarding the Kree’s remains don’t stand a chance.  Maria walks confidently, with purpose and chin held up, half of owning a place was how one walked into it which was particularly true when you were a woman.  The suits are two plain middle-aged men, conspicuous in their plainness, neither had the backbone to give Maria much trouble  getting into the warehouse they were temporarily keeping the Kree in, as if this were the X-files not a real risk to world security.

The shortest of the two agents fumbles to slide open the flimsy metal door for her, mentally Maria dubs him Scully—more of a compliment than he deserved.  The other agent, taller and more mopey, was definitely Mulder.  Metal screeches far too loud for Maria’s jet-lagged head, the irritation must show on her face because the agent hurries up and closes it behind her.  Lights, which were pretty much just a bunch of flood lights strewn around in strategic places all connected to wiring that led beneath the entryway, are switched on only when no one else can peer inside.  There in the middle of the empty warehouse is the Kree laying on top of a makeshift metal table.  Rot smelled differently on a Kree, something more akin to motor oil and dried leaves.  The whole place was entrenched in the smell.  Maria wiggles her nose at the scent then strides onward regardless.  The Winter Soldier had done more of a number on the Kree than she had maybe given him credit for.  The alien is a wreck, it’s advanced armor looks like it went through a blender, it’s body had seemed fine on the surveillance until a bar skewered it and its head got blow off, in person she can see the true extent of the damage.  The Soldier had given almost as good as he got.  Almost.  Captain Rogers’ appearance was fortunate.

That state of the Kree’s gear and armor as it was made it even more surprising any signal was working at all.  She inspects it closely, Loki had given her some insight into the Kree and any other alien race Thanos might’ve employed.  Uploaded the information into her brain like a software update, it had given her the shakes for days afterward.  There was no transmitter on the armor, nor in the odds and ends the Kree was carrying.  Only meant one thing, Maria flips out a short folding knife and starts slicing blue flesh along the most probable places. 

 

 

Upon entering Clint’s neighbor’s place Bucky watches Steve’s face go through a variety of emotions that ultimately end in _thrilled_ much to everyone’s surprise but Bucky’s.  The picture of Steve Rogers coming together in his head was of a Class A shit disturber, not the button-downed figure plastered all over Stark-sanctioned merchandise.

“Is that a bazooka?”  Steve asks, his fingers do little twitch—begging to cross the crowded living room and touch.

“Wouldn’t be a party without at least one bazooka.”  Wade replies.

Natasha makes an unimpressed noise, “Two would be better.”

Wade leers, “I’ll bet.”

“I will turn you inside out.”

“It would be an honor.”

Smirking, at both Steve’s awe and Wade’s death wish via Black Widow, Bucky nods towards the assorted weaponry—a go ahead for Steve.  Steve beams and picks up the massive bazooka first.  All that metal and power looked like it weighed nothing in his hands.  Bucky swallows and ducks his head.  It’s a blessing everyone’s attention is elsewhere.  Fuck, he needed to get a lid on it.  Steve slides his hand along the barrel of the bazooka taking aim at an imaginary object in the opposite direction.  This was an attack.  An outrage.  Bucky decides the best thing for him to do was an inventory on all the nifty grenades Wade brought.  He was strategically minded like that.

Clint finds the sight of Captain America excited over anything that wasn’t a giant metal Frisbee pretty captivating, for a whole different set of reasons.  Amusing himself mostly.  He leans in and narrows his eyes, “Ya know, you’re a lot more fun away from the Avengers.  No offense.”

Wade coughs, “The Whedon Effect.”

“I don’t know what that means,”  Steve says to both Clint and Wade.  As if to be contrary, definitely to be contrary, he puts the weapon down and crosses his arms.  “Why do you even need all of this.  It looks a little…overkill.”

“Pfft, you can’t kill someone too dead!”  Wade slaps Steve on the back, “What do they teach you Avenger guys up there?”

“How to save the entire world’s ass mostly.”

Pausing Wade considers that, “Point.”

“I don’t care if they’re aliens or not,”  Bucky says lining up the last grenade with the rest in a perfect star pattern on top of a lace-covered end table, “that thing was a hitter.  I know how hitters work, Stevie, we aren’t dead.  More are gonna be on the way, sure as snow in Siberia.”

Steve nods, understanding but not happy, then his lips quirk, “You ever get tired of the Russia allusions?”

“Nyet.  You ever get tired of reminding everyone you’re from Brooklyn, punk?”

“I’m going to get it tattooed on my chest, you jerk.”

“I know a guy, _Steve_ ,  runs a tattoo place outside Midtown.  Goes by Sergei.  I’m going to personally escort you there after I kill this space god.” 

They are nearly chest to chest now, both with silly ass grins on their faces that deterred all of their smack talk.  Steve felt five feet nothin’ and taller than the Empire at the same time.  Bucky had the prettiest flush on his face, from the challenge or something else Steve couldn’t say.  But, God, did he want to kiss him.  Fuck the room full of people, fuck the whole world.  All he had to do was lean forward, and just maybe Bucky would let him.  Maybe it wouldn’t ruin everything.  Steve could probably talk himself into anything.  Leap without looking.  A “maybe” could be worth hoping for.

Wade pokes his head between them, “This is some pretty weird foreplay guys but I have to say…into it.”

The look Steve pins Wade with could have brought on another ice age.

“Oookay,”  Clint tugs on the back of Wade’s belt dragging him away from the two most obvious yet somehow most oblivious super soldiers in the world, “thanks for the assist, Wilson, but you should go to ground.  Bad shit is on the way.”

Wade looks to Natasha for confirmation, the not-so-behind the scenes taskmaster.  She takes in the room one more time.  The whole of the apartment had weapons and ammo piled everywhere in it, enough to take over a small, scrappy country.  Assault rifles lined the counter tops, stealth gear in durable black containers was stacked on the floral printed sofa along with some, very much used, grappling hooks.  Smoke bombs in innocuous canisters bookended bricks of C4 around the TV—party poppers.  The real hardware were the twin portable .50 M2 turrets, dual EMP pulse land mines, tribeam laser cannons, and of course one big ass bazooka. They had enough ammo to feed each weapon for a year at least. Wade’s black market moving costs: 230,000 U.S. dollars, total supply cost: 1,500,000 dollars, the Black Widow’s warm fuzzy feeling at being surrounded by this sheer level of ordinance: priceless.

“Head back.”  Which was back to Skye and Kate.  They knew if the sky started falling to let their current mission go cold and keep themselves safe.  Safe as they could get anyway in the event of a world catastrophe. 

Wade mocks salutes and turns on his heal out the door.  Downstairs Wade slips a small manila packet into Clint’s neighbor’s mailbox.  A small thank you for letting them use the place.  Though when a dude in a mask shows up at your door in this city choice doesn’t really go through a person’s head, so the small part of the thank you wasn’t really that small.  More like the neighbor’s kid wasn’t going to have to worry about college and the mom was going to have no problem paying the bills for a good long while.  Deadpool didn’t really do “small”.

 

 

“I dunno, J, I think we can make it bigger.”

“Sir, we are stretching the structural integrity of the building as it is.”  The Avengers Tower had gone through way too many unexpected, violent, renovations since the building’s “birth”.

“We’ll reinforce it.  Couple of beams, some load-bearing arches, it’ll be fine.”

“Some would say adding a floor for Mr. Lang is a bit presumptive.”

“But not you.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Besides, if that thing works out in India for Fury we are definitely gonna need a bigger boat.”  Tony scrubs his eyes, you’d think working with hologram technology for so long would’ve built him up a bit of immunity to eye-strain.  Coffee.  Coffee would fix this.

He spins in his chair, an attempt to summon up some kinetic energy.  Getting up to walk to his espresso maker was hefty work after five solid hours of technical design.  There was no such thing as a simple upgrade to the tower, a lot of factors had to be accounted for.  Accessibility for one, security, sending everything over to Pepper, blah blah blah.  His holographic monitors light up red before he can muster the will to really move.

“Sir, it seems there’s been an incident.”  Jarvis uploads a few major news feeds all talking about an alien or perhaps an inhuman attack in the streets of downtown New York.  A shaky video from someone’s phone shows a very familiar figure helping take down a blue guy with a bone to pick with Cap’s old BFF.

Tony’s energized now in the worst way, “Damn it, Steve.  J, call Sam.”

“Mr. Wilson has already been alerted.  Initial scans show the unknown hostile to be Kree in origin.  Reports say the body was taken away by government officials.  Authorities are on the lookout for the other combatants involved.  They haven’t named names yet, however, the internet is certain of Steve Rogers’ identity.  And if the Winter Soldier has enemies they certainly know where he is now, if they are vigilant.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.  I am sorry to say there seems to be more.”

Tony sends a text to Pepper letting her know to expect some damage control and wishes for Pietro’s super-speed abilities—but only for like, the next couple hours.  He couldn’t deal with going grey.

“Hit me, J.”

“I have tracked the Kree’s location to a twenty meter radius.  There is something broadcasting around it.”

“Hmm, a signal?  How has no one else picked up on this?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. technology has proven to be rather advanced for current agencies.  A problem only due to their unwillingness to take on ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and operators.”

Tony shakes his head muttering, “Amateur hour.” 

Pepper sends back a short text back consisting of only a frowny face and a thumbs up, which he’s gonna over-analyze the meaning of later.  Steve’s not picking up his phone, that’s not too uncommon of late but with the media blowing up the way it is Tony’s finds it flat-out inconsiderate.  The Maximoff kids pick up always no matter what, Rogers could learn a thing or two.

“Alright, boost our receivers twenty percent and follow it down the line.”

Jarvis takes seconds to process the information, “Signal acquired, sir, the transmission goes past the Earth’s atmosphere.”

“That…is not good.  Open up the eyes in the sky.”

Tony’s “eyes” were satellites, two, of his own build and design.  As if he trusted NASA to do it.  Jarvis was normally only linked up to them in an auxiliary capacity, they were used for space observation as well as tech support for a few Stark devices.  Currently under Jarvis’ direction they were being used to scan the point in space where the signal abruptly ends.  Too abruptly to be a natural loss of signal strength over distance.  The satellite scanners register what Tony would call a “disturbance in the force”.  Jarvis uses hundreds of different imaging systems at once to procure recognizable picture. 

The image is up on Tony’s screens in a few minutes, long enough to make him even more desperate for an espresso.  Upon seeing the fruits of Jarvis’ labors the want for coffee quickly transforms into a need for a much stiffer drink because _that_ was a Kree ship just out of orbit of the Earth.  It’s the size of a shipping freighter, with jagged lines that made the part of Tony that appreciated aesthetic value cringe at the sheer ugliness.  Plus side the ship wasn’t big enough to be a Chitauri-level threat, downside the thing was racked with more guns than a NRA conference.  Looked about as ready to use them too with the menacing way the ship was floating there… _watching_.  Well the creeps inside were watching, and apparently they had it in for their new assassin friends.

So much for avoiding going grey.

 

 

 

_tbc_

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating after a long time kinda feels like sneaking up to someone’s house in the middle of the night and sliding a print copy of the chapter under the door and then running away as fast you can before the dog notices you’re there. Anyway in other news: Hi, I love you and I still don’t know what I’m doing.

 

**Chapter 20**

 

 

 

 

Skye’s life used to be made up of three simple tasks: fetch coffee, file boring expense reports, and help leak highly classified information to her hacker friends to share with the public.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  So what if every foster family she’d ever had always complained about her penchant for falling in with a “bad crowd”, and so what if she skipped too many classes to graduate and had to fake an ID just to get an entry level job at some random electronic security firm for a little bit of honest money?  That was all perfectly normal, Skye was sure of it mostly due to no evidence to the contrary.  The day Bucky Barnes appeared to put a cap in the ass of the CEO of that random electronic security firm she worked at was the day the real oddities started to pile up.  If she’d chosen a different firm then maybe she wouldn’t be freaking out about a text sent by Tony Freaking Stark to Steve Freaking Rogers about ALIENS.  The aliens part would still be an issue but the text part wouldn’t if Skye had also been able to return the mobile phone she’d so easily pick-pocketed.  A failed return and then not so later Natasha sends them a clipped message about what shit went down and a hastily needed supply run for Wade.  Just like that Skye’s new version of normal gets turned on its head even more.  Technically Natasha had told them to make themselves scarce too but they had a mission damn it.  Neither she nor Kate could let go that easily.

Kate was good to have around in times like these.  Hawkeye was good in stressful situations, level-headed—for the most part.  Skye had always been much more…shaky wasn’t quite the word.  The world had been easier to handle behind a computer screen.  Kate barely blinks away from the sepia tone photograph in her hands when Skye shoves the phone with the damning text lighting up the screen in her face.   The photo is pretty interesting to be fair, the sepia was from natural age and the photo was covered carefully in plastic protecting the preserved image of two young windblown boys, smiles wide and crooked as they ran their way up a wooden pier toward the mysterious photographer.  Skye didn’t need to guess who the boys were, considering whose apartment they were rummaging around in.  Yeah, so, she jacked Captain America’s phone and was also now doing some level six snooping inside his place.  All in all Skye was living in the fast lane of getting on the Avenger’s most wanted.  Dr. Doom never sat on Steve Rogers’ couch was all she was sayin’.

“Aliens.”  Kate breathes out dejectedly before gently placing the photo back where she found it, “At least it’s not demons.”

Skye cringes, “Are those a thing?”

“So I hear.”  Aliens or demons didn’t really matter to Kate, if they were threatening her people they were gonna get an arrow in the ear.

“Freakin’ yikes.”

“Yup.  Forward the message to Natasha.  She’s going to want to know the Stark brigade is probably heading their way eventually…and Skye?  If you need anything or need to make arrangements I would do it now.”

Skye doesn’t need an explanation why.  She might have only one chance to as Bucky would say: square her shit away.  They all might have to go so far and so fast after this her life in the city would feel like a dream.  She had gone quiet after sending what was basically a “what’s up bruh?” to Avengers Tower however Skye hadn’t gone far, things change.  There were advantages to most of what she called “hers” being digital.  With a touch of a button she could access the culmination of her life anywhere on almost any platform.   Though she was attached to her van, but Skye doubted Kate included whole vehicles on the bugout list.  The gun for hire life was a hard one, so was the hack for hire.

 “Hey, Skye?  When was that text sent again?”  Kate asks approaching Rogers’ impressive windows overlooking a deceptively calm Brooklyn.

 A sinking feeling develops in Skye’s stomach, “Uh, why?”

 “Cuz Tony Stark is apparently a real clingy mom friend and zooming this way right futzin’ now.  So find a closet maybe?”

  “There’s a Captain America joke in there.”  Skye snarks already frantically whipping herself around in circles looking for a Skye-sized hiding spot.

  “I made it pretty obvious.  Now hide!”

Kate uses Skye’s colorful British flag belt as a handle to drag her into Cap’s bedroom and finding a lack of closets she opts to rush beneath the bed.  It’s a tight fit.  Kate would’ve thought he would have had a bigger bed, the whole apartment had sense of lacking.  Of course the guy had no expectations to live up to, but really…no way _two_ super-soldiers were going to fit in that bed.  She was just looking out for the mission honestly.  A mission that somehow the universe was both pulling for and somehow thwarting at every turn.  Most people deserved a little happiness.  Some more than a little, that’s why she was beginning to lose her patience, an archer with no patience had a problem.

 They hear the music first. A rock n’ roll precession before Cap’s largest window flies open and the heavy clank of armor hit the floor.

“Lucy, I’m hooooome!”  Stark’s voice has an electronic buzz to it.  The girls make no sound and neither does Stark, or least as long as Stark can’t make noise. “J, do a biometrics scan, I don’t like feeling like I’m talking to myself…No, I don’t talk to myself I talk to you…you know what I’m turning down your conversational freedom parameters next chance I get don’t think I won’t.”

Stark takes his time sauntering into Cap’s bedroom, mostly quiet save for robotic mechanisms of his suit.  He makes an exaggerated “hmmm” sound then lifts the bed up easy as a feather.

 “ _Hey there_ …Jarvis there’s no one here.”  Tony stares at the perfectly clean carpet beneath the bed and then to little window above the bed that had flimsy white curtains swaying in the gentle breeze—Rogers’ security was truly abysmal.  He was going to have to do something about the windows.

 “It’s seems my sensors are being disrupted sir.”  Jarvis sounds dismayed but not too terribly upset about it.  Interesting.

 “Run diagnostics.”  Tony looks out of the little window himself and finds no trace of intruders, “These guys are good.”

 

               

* * *

 

 The Winter Soldier sits atop Clint Barton’s apartment complex, right next to a big satellite dish he’s helped fix a thousand times.  At that moment he was the Soldier, staring up into a sky that hid his enemies.  Enemies were always hidden, the last time he could remember a clear line was the War but even then he ended up being ruined by evil he hadn’t seen coming.  Beneath his feet was damn near everything he ever cared about.  Decades condensed into a room.  The Soldier lifts his rifle to look through the scope earning him a couple of kilometers of vision through the clouds and a sky tainted with violet-red.

 His sight is transfixed by the sky but his ears pick up the hesitant gait of Steve climbing the stairs.  They had a thing with rooftops lately, it would almost be romantic if it weren’t for all the attempted murder.

The rooftop exit opens, “Bucky?”

The Soldier blinks, releases the tension in his shoulders and lets the scope drop.  The Soldier retreats behind the irises of Bucky’s eyes—never gone just out of sight.

“You know I’m dangerous, right?”  Bucky doesn’t turn around.  He already knows what Steve’s face looks like as well as he knows his own.  As well as Natasha’s or Clint’s maybe, though he can’t clearly recall the years as vividly between them.  Every second they spend together that distance diminishes.

“You gonna try to tell me to back off again?  I can’t do that.  I won’t.”  Steve draws nearer but not too close.  Steve’s not wary, it’s the opposite.  He _wants_ to close-in which is exactly why he staves himself off.

“Nah, you’re too stubborn to do anything else.  Besides,” Bucky throws a short-lived grin over his shoulder, “it’s your own choice.  Few things more important than a person’s choice…Natalia says Stark is looking for you.”

 “I heard.  Actually I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Nyet.”

 “Buck, this is…big.  The Avengers are going to get involved on their own with no word from me no matter what.  I’m not saying you have to compromise on everything, I understand you guys have your own way of doing things.”

 “Steve Rogers talking about compromise, the world must truly be ending.”

Steve smiles, “Yeah, well, a certain someone helped me see the error of my ways a long time ago.  For the most part.”  For the most part actually meant less than one percent of the time in Steve’s case, he wasn’t going to mention that because he was trying to make a point here.

 “Carter?”

 “How’d you guess?”

 Bucky takes a glance at the sky then moves to sit on the edge of the roof so his legs could swing freely, “If anyone could teach you a few good things it was her…is she?”

 “Alive,” Steve confirms taking a seat a few feet away, “In D.C.  She’s got good and bad days, she’s still Peggy.  She’d love to see you, I don’t want to pressure you or anything it’s just that she and the Howlies spent a long time trying to recover your…”  He stops and takes a breath, “When she and Howard formed S.H.I.E.L.D. your name was the first she had memorialized.  Dugan’s still around too.”

“Ha! A German tank couldn’t take that man out, Father Time has got his worked cut out for him.”  Once they begin talking about them the images and memories flow easily, no broken glass fragments to crawl through, then again Hydra was only ever concerned with burning out Steve Rogers.  Peggy Carter had been in a class of her own and was never far from the frontlines.  Dugan, Dugan had kept Bucky’s Brooklyn fresh ass alive after they shipped him out with his sergeant stripes.  Dugan and Jones both had been like brothers.

“So far Time doesn’t have the best track record.”  Steve says.  So far in his experience Father Time was an asshole.

“Probably not, but I do.  Every mission I’ve gotten I completed, every name crossed off.”  Except for Steve’s went unsaid.

“You that confident?”  Steve remembers Bucky as full of confidence, charm, and a well of stubbornness to rival his own.  They had arguments that lasted months, which had never gotten in the way of being there for each other when it counted.  Of course it wouldn’t now, Steve just had some experience with world-ending scenarios and aliens.  He was trying to help, trying to make sure they stayed alive.  It was funny actually staying alive hadn’t been all that important until now.  If Bucky knew Steve thought like that he would probably beat the shit out of him.  Love was a well-placed boot to the ass.

 “Hell no.”  Bucky says with a devil-may-care smile, it’s a smile of miles long untold grudges and the intent to make good on them even if it meant burning too.  That wasn’t something Hydra forced him to become.  Bucky had never had a problem with burning too.

“But either way it’ll been done.  Unless that witch of yours resurrects my ghost, which please don’t by the way—been there done that got the t-shirt and a shiny arm.”

 Steve allows a half-hearted smile at Bucky’s nonchalance.  It’s a lot harder to make the guy smile these days, it makes Bucky want a cigarette.  He couldn’t remember when he stopped carrying them around.  Hah. ..no, wait, actually it had something to do with Natasha’s cat?  She was allergic?  Mother fucking Theresa how old was that cat, was it the same cat?  Clint always said she was a little clawed demon.  The cat not Natasha, although in the real world like attracts like.

He should probably stop joking so much about dying, he was not among his own group of fatalistic assholes.  No, Steve was a different kind of fatalistic asshole.  The kind that shoved all his shit under the rug and pretended it didn’t exist.

Steve stares at him for a long moment, all soft-eyes and tense shoulders.  The history of the world was written on those features, it never should have been.  Behind the rooftop exit door were Clint and Natasha listening in.  Bucky knew they were there.  They knew Bucky knew they were there.  A reminder that they had to leave soon, also in the name of friendship they wanted to be near for support.  For friendship.  The word might as well have been hovering above their heads in a rainbow while they elbowed each other for a turn looking out the keyhole.  They were not making bets of any kind.  Bucky tries not to roll his eyes, he fails.

 “Time to get up, Stevie.  We got work to do.” 

 Steve blinks, opens his mouth to say something—thinks better of it and goes with, “Where are we going exactly? Just another safe house?”

 “Sort of.  More like a way-station.  He won’t let us stay there for long but we don’t have long anyway.”  Fucking Hell soldat way to sound ominous.

  “He?”  Steve asks feeling more lost by the second.  He blames it on leading the Avengers too long.  Too much a Captain than one of the soldiers.

Bucky makes no sound approaching the roof access door.  He pulls it open swiftly and Clint and Tasha nearly land on their faces, their backs are loaded down with their share of Wade’s haul.  They look about as apologetic as three-year olds who just “accidentally” nut-punched a creepy uncle. Clint smiles and waves.

Natasha’s face is carefully neutral, “Ready?”

“Sure.” Bucky says proud of how sure his sure sounded considering how very unsure he was about most things in the past week. “Pack my shit up too?”

“I made Clint do it.”

“I volunteered.”  Clint corrects.

Natasha gets to her feet in one languid movement, her face is still her particular brand of unimpressed blank, “Sure you did, honeybunch.”

Clint clacks his mouth shut, a traitorous blush rising on his cheeks.  The nicknames, the nicknames were his weakness.  He _had_ really packed most of their collective armory himself.  Even Bucky’s terrifying new magic boom stick, which had been a very uncomfortable ordeal involving the nearest duvet Clint could find.

“I feel like you’re purposely avoiding my question.”  Steve grouses from behind them.

“Oooh, talking about the safe house, huh?  I’ll tell ‘em if you want big guy.”  Clint stands up, dusting off his black cargo pants.  He’s far too pleased with himself.

Bucky rolls his shoulders in a gesture that’s shy of an actual shrug.

“We’re going to the safest place in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen?  Are we talking about the Defend—”

“Ha, different outfit entirely.  All due respect to those guys.  Seriously they’re badasses—”

“With great asses.”  Natasha interjects.

Clint scowls, “Not relevant.”

“Daredevil’s ass is always relevant.”

“You’re going to give me a complex, Nat.”

“Then stop skipping squats on leg day.”  Clint clutches his chest and Natasha ignores him, “Listen, Rogers, I wouldn’t worry so much about your friends.”

“The black widow tells me not to worry and I kinda do the opposite.”

“Look at the golden boy, learning.”

Bucky inclines his head a little, “On poluchayet tam v kontse konstov.”

Natasha hides her smile behind her hand, Steve knew when he was being talked about anyway.  Rude ass Russians.

It takes Natasha dragging Clint out the door to finally get them moving.  They had been waiting for nightfall in their own defense.  Wade left a more or less clean car for them to use with a decent engine.  Clean meaning no GPS anywhere on hand, dummy license plates, and a scrubbed VIN number.  Being literally clean was a bit too much to ask for however, the backseat floor boards of the unobtrusive sedan were a shade of dingy brown that could only be very old blood and they would all swear taco sauce was leaking from the seams of the car seats.  The radio didn’t work though there was one CD already in that only played one song over and over.  Rasputin by Boney M. They listen to it all the way to the west side of midtown Manhattan.  More famously known as Hell’s Kitchen.

The neighborhood had had some changes since the dark days of the 80’s, from the city’s efforts and of course the efforts of one, now incarcerated, Wilson Fisk.  Despite the city’s good intentions you just can’t scrub that much blood out of thirsty concrete.  The Battle of New York had energized that old blood for the worst bringing back a surge of crime that would have made the old school mobsters from back in the day shiver.  Prime real-estate turned into the cheap seats overnight and the people there were too busy trying to piece their lives back together from the destruction to notice.  Bucky bought his favorite body armor and Kevlar from there now. 

New York City was worlds inside of worlds.  Amongst 8.5 million people it was easy to disappear without having to head to the mountains.  It was easy to get gear for even the shadiest of operations when you knew the right people.  The “right people” was a relative term of course as in all things.  Natasha, Clint, and Bucky’s right people were the ones who by all accounts should probably be in maximum security prison.  At least in the eyes of the law any way.  They were pretty hand-wavey about the law—Laws, ordinances, and McDonald’s playground rules.

Steve was aware they were purposefully hiding who was supposedly going to give them safe harbor so he wouldn’t have a chance to object which means he probably would object even in their dire straits.  He’s innately good at objecting, always had been, while Buck had always been good at talking around him when he didn’t want to tell the truth.  His body goes tight when Natasha stops their car in front of a gutted apartment complex.  The place was obviously abandoned before construction was complete, the chain-link fence was still up with the yellow warning signs zip-tied on.  Cheap gravel was piled up here and there waiting to be flattened.  Steve is feeling pretty justified.  He side-eyes Bucky in the seat next to him, Bucky in turn steadfastly stares down at his cell phone reading something that makes Bucky make a face and then pocket the phone.

Clint catches the look too through the rearview mirror, “That happy, huh?”

“Find out for yourself soon enough,” Bucky replies gruffly, “Park around the building, Natalia, there’s an open wall and a big fuckin’ truck.”  He opens his door and steps out, his rifle he’d kept propped up next to him now he holds in a stiff stance.

“Bucky, where are you going?”  Steve is starting to hate the sound of his own voice, always questioning and never sure, except on one front:  how he feels about Bucky Barnes.  Even that was racked with insecurities.  Steve was pretty damn ready for another alien to show up anytime now.  Anything to take a swing at honestly.  He just really wanted to punch something.

“I gotta open the gate, punk.”  Bucky softly closes the door behind him and turns the safety off his rifle, “And do a perimeter sweep.”  His words are a little colder and a lot quieter.  If Steve’s hearing was as good as his he could definitely hear him, though it wasn’t like he was trying to hide the fact that even at a safe house Bucky still didn’t feel safe.

Bucky tears the fence gate lock of the chain holding it in place easily.  He watches Natasha slowly drive around without her lights off; she’d turned them off on their last turn as to not draw attention to their approach.  Any other time they might’ve ditched the car and hoofed it a block away, but they were going to need that car again soon.  Cars were harder to steal these days, they didn’t have the time to waste acquiring a new one if they had to.  Once they’re through Bucky ties the chain back around the gate bending it like shoe laces until it’s secure again then starts his methodical round of the area.  He never lowers his weapon.  He makes no sound.  The whole area was eerily quiet, likely due to the building’s current occupant rather than an outside threat.  Normally he’d scale the most vulnerable side of the building, get a bird’s eye view then drop in from the top.  This wasn’t an enemy base.  It wasn’t theirs though either.  Bucky rolls his shoulder where metal meets flesh and sucks it the fuck up.  The Winter Soldier deems the area secure.

Natasha and Co. are gone when he reaches where they parked the car.  Bucky can guess the way they went.  The bottom half the building is damn near see-through and the elevator isn’t even put in.  The stairs that double as a fire escape route are complete and solid.  He follows them all the way up to the first completed floor.  The place was probably going to be an office building for sorts, maybe medical.  Now each one of the suites doors were boarded up except for one.  The corner suite.  There were lots of ways for an enemy to get in but there were also lots of ways for them to get out.  For some reason the fact the whole place was rigged with explosives also helped settled his nerves.  Cordite in the air was better the chamomile.

Bucky knocks on the door, he thinks very politely.  The man who answers it doesn’t seem to care.  The man lifts his chin at the sight of him and narrows his eyes, there was a definite accusation there on his severe features.  He smells like gun oil and blood.

“Barnes.”  The tone is not pleased.

Bucky matches his icy glare, hell Bucky _invented_ the icy glare, “Castle.”

The man huffs, not impressed but he holds the door open a little more, “You want to tell me why I found Captain God Damned America in my backyard, sergeant?”

Bucky can see Steve over Castle’s shoulders, the Punisher was an imposing man—Steve had at least three inches on him.  Steve’s arms are crossed and he’s seething, not far are Natasha and Clint looking duly distracted.   This shit was why Bucky hadn’t said anything.  The Punisher was considered a mass murderer by the Avengers on the best of days, a sadistic psychopathic mass murderer on his worse.  Natasha calls him Frankie, Castle calls her m’am and Clint sends dogfood Castle’s way for Castle’s pitbull when he’s got to lay low.  The Avengers were wrong about Frank Castle.  Sure he killed people.  Bucky killed people too.  He admitted that to Steve point-blank.  This was going to be different.  He hadn’t exactly told Castle about Steve either, just that they had to bring along somebody else.  He wasn’t happy about it.

“Not really.  Are you going to let me in or am I not wearing enough red leather for you?  Maybe some horns?”

Castle glowers, “You’re a dick, Barnes.”

Bucky grins, “Yeah.”

Castle’s rigid poster relaxes minutely.  They’d met years ago in Kuwait in the throes of a bar fight Bucky didn’t remember starting…he probably had, he had a record going sue him.  The fight had ended with Bucky and Castle sitting on top of a destroyed bar counter drinking straight out of the top shelf bottles.  One year after that Castle gets in touch through some military contractors needing some serious firepower.  The rest was in the Daily Bugle.

Castle moves from the doorway with reluctant look, “Wipe off your boots.”

Bucky does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Maria, I’m disappointed in you.”  Loki’s voice echoes when there is nothing to echo off of in the small room, turning in on itself like a snake eating its own tail.

“Twenty-four hours ago they weren’t worried about Kree bounty hunters blowing them up.  It was only a matter of time before I lost them.  It’s not like your army of eyes around the city have had much luck either.  These guys are professional ghosts.”  Maria has her hands clasped in front of her like she would at any S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing.  She keeps her voice even and tries not to think about her freshly opened face mask pack drying out in the motel sink.  It was mint.

Loki turns away from his magical projection for a long moment his face denotes no emotion when he returns, “It would seem the Kree are going to do your job for your, my dear.”

“…What?”

“The ship hovering above this frail little rock has deployed a heavily armed unit just outside the city.  They’ll be tracking down my soldier and his friends soon.  You were too slow in disarming the beacon.”

“The Avengers haven’t mobilized.”  Maria checks her tabs on them again to make sure.  The Tower is quiet.  Iron man has been spotted flying around earlier that day but that was hardly unusual.  No explosions followed him so no one raised an eyebrow.  Not a lot could rattle New Yorkers, especially not New Yorkers during the age of miracles.

“Visitors to your planet arrive and vanish often, Maria, without a need to try their strength against your champions.  Stark failed at a world-wide protection measure for your planet, ended in a spectacular disaster I recall.  The Avengers will not know more Kree have set foot on Earth unless the Kree will it.  Meanwhile I suppose the eyes in the tower are too focused on the reaver-class ship barely masking its presence…or other distractions.”

Maria grinds her teeth, “Then what do you want me to do, sir?”

“Rally the troops.  Send them all to me.  The fate of the Kree is intertwined with our own.  If the soldier does not succeed we shall be called to arms sooner than I would prefer.”  Loki sounds as if he were talking about the weather.  That’s his tell.  The more indifferent he sounds the more Maria has learned to be concerned. Loki was universe’s greatest liar.  Maria was possibly the Earth’s greatest keeper of lies.

Loki’s face disappears in a flurry of green flame.  Maria sits back in her chair.  Every chat leaves her more drained.  More drained but more herself.  She is still compelled to obey, all of her decisions were still trapped in an oily riptide.  On the other hand, her thoughts were becoming more her own.  Maria disagreed more.  More importantly the presence of Loki in her mind was weakening.  She could keep some things to herself through sheer force of will at the cost of a horrible headache and a nose bleed.  Maria Hill was getting her secrets back, and that was more dangerous than any Kree.

Secrets always had a habit of coming knocking.  Maria was waiting for the night Fury showed up at her door in an ever tactical black hoodie and a suitcase full of the culmination of some unfortunate event.  That night she was not expecting Fury, she was expecting the _embodiment_ of an unfortunate event who also happened to be a recent secret.  A secret or a very big mistake, she’d yet determined that.  She was always a fan of handy hidden WMD’s during times of conflict.

Her expectations didn’t disappoint.  Ten minutes after Loki magically hung up on her the door did indeed start knocking.  In a very annoying rhythmic drumming.  Through the cheap door she could the faint singing of lyrics, “ _Up all night for good fun, up all night to get some_ —wait fuck, whatever, _up all night to get Loki.  Up all night to get Loki, Up all night to get Loki_.”

A mistake.  One hundred percent, undoubtedly a mistake.

Maria opens the door, “I believe I requested you to be stealthy, Mr. Wilson.”

Wilson grins, she’s not sure how his red and black mask portrays his expressions so well, “You requested a lot of things, so you know I charge extra for happy endings—even for walking Aphrodite’s such as yourself.”

“Say anything remotely sexual to me again Wilson and I will strangle you to death with your own intestines.”

“…I think I love you.”

 

 

 

_Tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On poluchayet tam v kontse konstov – “He gets there eventually.”


	22. Chapter 22

 

Chapter 21

 

 

 

Frank Castle is…kind of awkward.  Steve had about half a dozen preconceptions of how the man would be face to face, none of them were up to snuff.  Castle was a quiet man for the most part, observant, he surprisingly offers them all coffee from a metal percolator heated on an old hotplate when they get settled.  It’s the blackest most brutal swill Steve’s ever drank, he couldn’t be happier about the jolt it gave his tired system.

Steve shyly asks for another cup and Castle jumps to pretty quickly.  Bucky smothers a snicker at the tense exchange.  He was going to remind Steve later about his noble talk of compromises.  In one form or another they were all soldiers.  All soldiers off the battle field had a reserved respect for one another.  Steve and Bucky could look at Castle and see the same shit they themselves carried.  A man who had served, war hadn’t broken him, coming home _had_ , and now violence was his life.  They could relate to each other beyond the penchant for leather.  The leather thing was a whole other impossibly even less comfortable conversation.

Frank saw things a little differently.  He grew up like any normal American kid—on stories of the Howling Commandoes and their fearless leader Captain America.  He saw Steve as many service men and women did.  A commanding officer.  The nation’s brightest star—embodiment of the core concepts of being a soldier.  Blah blah truth blah blah honor, etc.  Frank had a set of Cap pajama’s all the way up till he was thirteen.  Had to be tough, serial killer or not, to have your childhood hero look down their nose at you.  Frank knows that’s not exactly right either, whatever he was getting from Rogers it wasn’t that.  He had no way of knowing the Captain America from the history books wasn’t real.  Steve didn’t look down his nose at anyone, he had that same nose broken eight times before he was twelve, Bucky was even starting to remember some of them.

Steve tucks himself in a little, aware of how he was being deferred to.  He pushes away the headlines about the Punisher from his mind.  The media didn’t matter, his opinions were based on noise.  He felt he owed everyone who wore the uniform the benefit of the doubt, that is until they proved themselves to be irredeemable jackasses.  Besides he knew he didn’t have a foot to stand on when it came to those who killed bad guys.  If anything from what he’s heard, Castle had an even stricter code than Bucky’s crew.

“Sir.”  Castle hands Steve a cup of midnighter joe.

Steve takes the tin cup, one of Castle’s seemingly endless supply, and nods, “Were you army?”

Castle doesn’t smile but his eyes shine a little brighter, maybe it was just the lighting from the battery operated lanterns, “Nah, jarhead.”

“First time I’ve seen a Marine with this much grime on their floor.”

Castle tilts his chin up, a smidge more aggressive than his already tense stance, “Seen a lot of Marine’s floors?”

Through a crooked smile Steve says, “You’d be surprised.”

A long pause fills the room, heavy until Castle huffs out a raspy abrupt laugh.  Clint thinks it’s the most disturbing thing he’s heard since he and Bucky had to spend the night in a fishing boat alone out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.  He would swear to this day mermaids exist. Bucky tried to tell him it was a dolphin.  Lies.

A nameless worry loosens in Bucky’s chest, like Castle was some sort of check on Steve.  A question never asked: how much was too much?  For Steve it would never be too much,  Bucky would never believe that.  Steve Rogers wasn’t the only one with enough insecurities to sink an ocean liner.

“Careful, _Stepa_ , you’re going to offend Clint’s sensitive ears, look at them,” Natasha slinks herself around Clint’s shoulder and tugs at his lobes, “they’re red.”

Softly Clint mumbles, “C’mon, Nat.”

Taking a mild amount of mercy on him Natasha tucks herself under his chin until the grumpy line between his brows dissipates.  Most of his aches and pains were gone thanks to the shit ton of aspirin Clint chewed before they had left his apartment however the lingering bone-deep discomfort clung to him, the hug from Natasha helped melt some of that away.  Unabashedly Clint clings back.

Frank settles down to his makeshift table made up of a big piece of plywood held aloft by four stacks of cinderblocks.  An amalgamation of police radios, small emergency televisions broadcasting local news, and a big clunky device that sounded like it was intercepting calls directly to dispatch cover the surface of the table with only enough room for Frank’s laptop and coffee cup.  Every device he had was a constant low hum of activity.  It was the graveyard shift in the city but the city didn’t sound like it was aware.

“Is it always so busy?”  Steve asks, genuinely concerned about some of the calls coming in and then slightly more concerned when Frank makes notes about the calls.  Sure Steve lived in Brooklyn, he was however a true New Yorker—when the door was closed and locked the outside world might as well have become nonexistent.

Frank makes a noncommittal sound and puts in his earbuds.

Steve sighs, well, it was nice to see Captain America’s golden finish tarnished so fast among new company.  By “nice” he means annoying but he would never admit it.

“The streets scream at night, Stevie,” Bucky menacingly leans in over his shoulder not unlike Natasha had done to Clint though Bucky has a bit more physical restraint, “So do the C.H.U.D.S.”

“C.H.U.D.S.?”

Clint makes a disapproving huff, “Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers.  I thought you were catching up?  You’re obviously not reading the right stuff, man.”

“You can’t be serious.”  Steve says flatly.

Bucky crosses his arms, his face still as stone, “They’re an important part of the population, Steven.”

“You’re messing with—”

“They’re real.”  Frank confirms with no room for argument, apparently he was one of those people who put their earbuds in but didn’t actually turn the volume up. 

Steve takes a moment to process that, accepts it, then let’s out a deeper sigh.  He takes a long draught of his coffee and shakes his head.  The question as to why Frank would let them, specifically Steve under his roof, plague him a little bit.  Even with a history with the others Frank was still due some answers.  Who were they running from, why did they have Captain America with them, was Castle himself in danger?  The guy doesn’t ask for anything, neither does Steve.  Frank doesn’t tell them where to bed down for the night either.

Natasha looks around an hour or so later, immediately locating a military crate full of thermal blankets on her first guess.  No one is really surprised by this.  She had a way of knowing things about people, about places, she’d been a spy for a very long time.  There was no shaking that off, not even in affectionately familiar company.  The Red Room couldn’t quite squash the need for sleep out of her any more than it did for Bucky.  Coffee didn’t do much for them in the ways of keeping them up, particularly with the serum.  Clint was so used to the stuff now drinking it was mostly to fuel the addiction and to avoid the headaches but he also really fucking loved coffee.

It was pretty obvious Frank wasn’t going to bed any time soon, if he ever slept at all.  The imposing man was a lean mean criminal-killing machine…as long as you never saw him with a dog, or with kids, or ordering a cappuccino with extra whipped cream.  He also held doors open for the elderly at every opportunity.  Not the best way to cultivate a badass rep.  Bucky was certain Frank checked up on them frequently, which also did nothing for his reputation, making sure their own hits stayed within the confines of his personal moral philosophy.  The very idea would have unsettled anyone else but Bucky was…what had he said before?  Oh, yeah, fucking metal.  Natasha knew too, she kept tabs on Frank in turn.  Clint lived on the principle of if it doesn’t matter right this second he didn’t need to know, won’t need to know later, thanks now pass the bagels.  Bucky approved and he didn’t mind a guy with the firepower of the Punisher watching over them when they slept.

Frank’s space was divided in two shadowed areas.  Basically a work area and a very _very_ small “living” area where his cot and rations are kept.  The four squashed their blankets together as respectfully as possible as to not crowd Steve and also to give Bucky his space as well.  Natasha and Clint knew he had a tendency to wake up rather violently, not that they would be getting much sleep.  What felt like minutes was actually three whole hours.  A depressing record for the past couple of weeks. 

Natasha and Bucky jolt up almost at the same time when Frank steps near where they were sleeping.  Bucky scowls so fierce his forehead starts to ache.  He woke up every day like he was just coming out of cryo: disheveled, confused, and pissed-off.

“Look alive, sunshine.”  Frank rasps cocking his head back toward his radios.  The voices coming from them were faint, Bucky could hear them like he was standing with his ears pressed to the speakers.

“Shit.”  Bucky grouses then flops back down effectively waking Steve.

Natasha shakes Clint awake with the gentleness of a drunk linebacker, he groans and buries his head beneath the blankets.  When Bucky makes no move to get up either, though she can tell by his face he knows why Frankie woke them, she rolls from her position between her boys and lands her knees on Bucky’s ribs.  Putting all her weight on him Natasha uses him to stand up.  Bucky doesn’t even have the decency to grunt, rather he continues to lay there like a log.  An attractive log to be sure but no more useful.

A well-aimed kick to Clint’s ass makes him jerk fully upright, “Wha—who?”  He breathes, his gaze travels up to Natasha looming over Bucky, “ _Why_?”

One word carried so much accusation toward her and the world in general.

Franks makes his way back to his post and cranks the volume up, “Take a listen.”

Clint adjusts his hearing aids, which were really fucking uncomfortable after sleeping in them.  Annoying residual pain pulsed in both his ears from the high-tech material pressing in too deep.  He puts up with it to listen, and he does listen—to a whole lot of nothing.

Frank can see his confusion, “It’s too quiet, Barton.”

“Squad cars have been unreachable for the past hour or so, all in the same sector.”  Bucky explains.

“You think something abnormal has happened to them?”  Steve finally speaks up from the floor.  His face is tilted toward them though he doesn’t remove himself from next to Bucky.  Neither of them are keen on changing positions.  If anything Steve inches a little closer and Bucky presses a little bit back.  The floor of an abandoned building project turned HQ by a vigilante could be pretty warm with the right company.

“They were called in to some suspicious whack-jobs walking through traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge.  Soon as they got on the scene communication went dead.” 

Steve props himself up to on his elbows, he hasn’t been in these close of quarters since the army, “Were there any disruptions on the bridge?  Anybody else call?”

Grimly Franks says, “No and no.  I’ve made some inquiries, nothing out of place.  Traffic is normal.  No cops.”

“Buck?”

“Yeah,”  Bucky yawns, covering the fact the way his stomach is starting to drop, “feels like our sort of problem.”

Clint loses the battle with his aides, before he pulls them out he complains, “I don’t want it to be our sort of problem.  I’m tired of problems, all we have are problems.”

“And guns.”  Bucky not so helpfully supplies.

Under his breath Steve says, “Those are probably related.”

Bucky shrugs, “Meh.”

Somewhat too loudly now that he’s taken his aides out Clint frowns at Steve, “Too early for that kind of negative energy, bro.”

“Coffee’s on.”  Frank points to his trusty hot plate.  The coffee had never in fact stopped.  The coffee never stops.

“James…”  Natasha says pouring herself a cup.

“Yeah, I know.”

Steve gets up start to squaring their mess away.  He stops rolling up their blankets long enough to ask, “Know what?”  Natasha, Clint, and Bucky and a nonverbal shorthand that was sometimes hard to keep up with.

“Best case scenario somebody out there is doing their own thing taking out cruisers for their own reasons.  Plenty of people with a grudge against cops in this town, but that’s not our problem.  Worst case, somebody else is doing damage prevention and taking out threats as they come while still going under the radar.  Hard to do in public.  Or…”

“It’s a trap.”  Steve finishes for him.

Steve was a picture freshly out of bed.  Bucky memorizes that picture.  Just in case.

“Trap.”  Frank says matter of fact while he chews through a terrifyingly large piece of beef jerky—breakfast.  Bucky can only shrug.

In his shittiest Lord of the Rings voice, made even worse by the fact he couldn’t hear his own tone, Clint announces, “I shall get my bow.”  He was the team’s main recon man after all when they weren’t out to kill the target on the first go.

Natasha and Bucky were uncomfortable letting him go anywhere alone, that happens when someone you love gets kidnapped by an Asgardian asshole.  Clint _was_ the best though.  More than fear for him Bucky and Natasha trusted in what he could do.  That respect hadn’t been easily gained, took a lot of hard scrapes and even more of Nat’s infamous bathtub vodka.  Yes, they trusted him, which was very nice.  No way in hell Natasha was letting him go without backup.

The thought of Natasha’s homemade spirits sends Clint’s stomach to roil in the worst possible ways.  Frank mistakes the sounds coming from Clint as hunger and sends a piece of jerky at the archer’s head where is sticks to the side of Clint’s face for a whole five seconds before he peals it off and eats it mostly out of spite.  He debates living with the C.H.U.D.S and letting the above ground world fight it out amongst themselves.  Clint could handle cannibals, he lived in a circus when he was kid.  He’s pretty sure no one ate anybody back in the day but how different could it be?  The weight of Bucky’s glare brings Clint out of his imaginary future in the sewers.  Bucky was being quiet and scary, he was either about to kill someone in the room or he was worried.  The guy just had one of those faces.  For Clint it meant under no uncertain terms to be careful.

Steve claps Clint on the shoulder, it feels weirdly like being blessed by the pope or maybe Beyoncé…nah, Steve was nowhere near Beyoncé.  Natasha expresses her concern by helping him into his gear outside at the car.  She tightens every strap more than was necessary.  Two layers of high-grade Kevlar formed his armor and as a finishing touch Natasha slips Clint’s violet-tinted sunglasses on.  She takes a step back sizing him up.

“Ready for school, Ma?”

“Not for the inner city crap they put kids through these days, but for a short recon job?  You’re ready to go.”

“How far behind are you gonna be?”  Clint asks because there’s no way he’s gonna see her.  He never does.

“Far enough.”

Bucky and Steve would stay put with Frank.  If Frank stayed at all, that wasn’t guaranteed.  He was just the shelter right now and had no reason to stop his normal activities.  Normal might not be the right word for what Frank Castle does.

“Roger that.”  Clint flips his radio on and attaches it to his left hearing aide.  Natasha nods that she’s receiving him clearly and Bucky gives a short affirmative over the line.

Morning light starts to break over the surrounding dilapidated structures, by the time the rays reach where they were standing Hawkeye and the Black Widow are gone.

Back inside the safe house Steve shifts on his seat of empty crates, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Bucky runs his hands over his face, “That…is exactly the kind of shit we don’t say before a mission.”

“Call it like I see it, Buck.”

“I know you do.”  Does he?  Apparently he does.  The instinctual trust Bucky had for Steve had worn out its novelty.  Now it was almost annoying how certain he was, how much he trusted without thinking.  Being certain was more important than his own comfort level, Bucky wasn’t going to let either of those feelings crack his calm.

“Sarge,” Frank softly calls, “Have a seat.”  He gestures to his command center and holds up another pair of earbuds for Bucky.

Bucky could stand there silently without moving for hours with no need to occupy himself.  Thing was, when you had friends just because you could do something didn’t mean you _had_ to.  Bucky breaks the parade rest he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and stiffly sits opposite Frank and settles down to listen to a group of teenagers prank call the NYPD.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Still nothing?”

“Nada.”  Tony _may_ have had Jarvis identify the program used to scramble his sensors and he may have matched the coding signatures to the message emailed to Steve before Hydra fell.  Putting one and two together wasn’t hard.

Rhodey frowns incredulously, “Are you really give him this much rope?  I can tell your covering.”

“This really the time, boo-bear?”  Tony huffs.

“This,”  Rhodey says drawing closer to Tony’s massive display screen depicting a pinpoint threat floating in a merciless black void, “Is definitely the time we need Cap!”

“I agree.”

“Okay…good…why do I feel like we’re talking about two different things?”

Tony spins around in his chair, “We have a space problem.”

Rhodey frowns even harder, “…Yeah.”

“So,” Tony stops and uses what he thinks is his reasonable voice, “we need a space captain.”

“No.”

“I’ve already talked to her, she’s game.  More than game.  I’m a little concerned about her level of enthusiasm, but whatcha gonna do.  Those Nasa types are crazy kids.”

“No, Tony. I feel—”

“Don’t care, its already done!  You’re just gonna have to swallow your crush—”

“I do not have a crush!”  Rhodey without a doubt has a crush.

“Sure you don’t.  And I don’t let Wanda give me scary tension-filled ‘practice’ manicures.  C’mon man.  There’s a space ship up there.  With guns.  It’s a flying ship with guns.  The captain can go into space.  It’s settled.”

Rhodey wants to argue, purely because for once Tony was making plenty of sense.  It was irritating.

“…Did she say anything about me?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

If they bothered to ask Wade Wilson could tell anyone, anywhere that despite what every TV show or sub-par piece of fanfiction said there just aren’t that many shady abandoned warehouses in New York.  Oh, the blatant deceit.  There just aren’t.  Real-estate was valuable, remember?  Even the places the Mob utilized on the daily were fully functioning fronts.  The nonexistent eyebrows on Wade’s forehead went up every time he was faced yet again with the most cliché atmosphere in the business.   So why, why, did he have to be at a dock?  A dock with multiple empty warehouses, security fences and an all around feeling of that famed urban grit.  So edgy, Wade could swoon.  This was the address Agent, specifically _agent_ not Maria or Ms., Hill gave him.  He’d easily accepted her job offer and accepted the terms to secrecy.  That S.H.I.E.L.D. paranoia was almost as impressive as his own.

Anyway, back to the important bits.  These edgy as fuck warehouses were not empty.  These warehouses had lines of Loki’s groupies hanging around them.  Wade gets it, honestly, who isn’t a sucker for tall, dark, and crazy?  Insanity wrapped in an accent was his personal cuppa tea.  But that hair was kinda much and was he really worth all the One Direction mouth-frothing or the new starkphone level of line-waiting?  Apparently, Wade realizes as he slips into their ranks, Loki was.

The thralls with their eyes an identical unnatural blue stumbled along in quiet parallel lines into each of the warehouses surrounding the dock.  All of them were military or security of some kind, a few wore the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on their shoulders.  A smaller more mentally coherent group heads up a walkway onto a massive shipping freighter.  If Loki was anywhere, Wade would bet his special edition Hello Kitty watch he was in there.  It hurt to look at the ship straight on—good thing Wade had never done anything straight in his life.  He can make out a strange shimmer surrounding the ship, he can hear the voice of the Winter Soldier mutter through a far too pretty scowl, “Fuckin’ magic.”  Well, he thinks it’s the Winter Soldier’s voice.  Could be somebody else’s, not necessarily his own.

No one gave Wade a second look all thanks to Agent Hill.  He’s definitely not humming the theme to the Pink Panther because that would be unprofessional.  A couple of his fellow thralls eye him critically, seeing nothing but a plain-faced man in a tight fitting S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform they look away and shamble on.  The mesh technology on Wade’s face itches like two week old underwear, he wiggles his nose but fails to relieve the urge.  Miserably.  Mercs and spies never talked about the endless damn _itching_.  Facts of the life were these: anything between the legs was gonna bunch up and disguises were always gonna make you want to take a nail filer to your own face.

Wade gets to the end of the line his…uh, _line_ slower than he’d like.  At the warehouse doorway stood one of the more coherent groupies snapping pictures of everyone they let in and then logging in some information in the knock-off tablet she carried.  Her questions to each person were generally the same.  When Wade’s turn comes around the woman barely looks at him—not the usual reaction he gets when meeting new people but he’ll take it.  He knows he doesn’t rub a lot of people the right way, probably because of all the rubbing the wrong way he does…bow chicka bow wow.

The door guard snaps his picture and asks with a North Shore accent, “Name?”

Wade clears his throat, “Jack Preston.”

After a few taps on her screen she nods, “Confirmed.  Have you ever had contact with any radioactive materials?”

“Not in the last few story arcs.”

“Yes or no answers.”

“Right, sorry…no?”  He doesn’t sound very sure.

The woman raises an eyebrow then makes another more deliberate tap, “Do you have any medical conditions you kept from your employers?”

Medical conditions, _ha_.

“Nope, no.”

He gets another assessing look, “Go on through.”

Wade opens the door giving a very covert thumbs-up on his way in.  The warehouse is packed and filled with the smell of home sweet home, aka, sweat and violence.  He follows the sound of gasps of pain and bones breaking to the center of the building.  Wade Wilson has just walked into Loki’s personal Fight Club.  These guys were good too, trained, and very intent on tearing each other apart.  There was an order to it all, more touch screen tablets were making an appearance—names were being noted.

A bloody tooth lands at Wade’s boots, he grins rubbing his hands together, “Maximum effort.”

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stepa—Basically the equivalent of “Steve” in Russian
> 
> Castle and Cap don’t get along in the comics, like, at all. There was this couple of panels in Civil War that I remember where Frank shows up to help and is basically told to get the hell out. I dunno, that never sat well with me. I think MCU Cap and Frank would go about things differently. Maybe not bros for life but far from enemies. That’s what I tell myself anyway, let me live.


	23. Chapter 23

 

Chapter 22

 

 

 

                “ _Company always on the ruuun, destiny blah blah risin’ suuuuuuun.  I was born shotgun in my hand something something something final staaaaaaaaaaand_! _That’s why they call me: Bad Company, I can’t deny! Bad, bad, company ‘til the day I dieee_!”  Clint sings when he’s nervous sometimes.  A habit picked up from his military training.  Where Tash and Bucky learned death-like silence among their more militaristic peers Clint basically grew up with young blood thirsty marines stuffed into Humvees for hours in the desert with nothing to do but sing Creedence Clearwater Revival songs and Avril Lavigne.  Bucky knows this and even if he didn’t he wasn’t one to mess with a sniper’s calming mechanisms.

                Because Bucky is _super_ into things like empathy and feelings he only says “Shut the fuck up, Hawkeye.”  over comms twice.  He can admittedly get a little surly when he’s not running point.  Clint does have the best eyes and Bucky is the guy with the magic gun and the cosmic target on his back.  If it’s a trap then it’s likely a trap for him specifically.  Clint and Natasha would be safer without him there until it’s necessary.  So until then he gets to be surly while listening to the progressively irritating citizens of New York call in everything from shots fired at a bodega to old lady McGinley complaining about her young neighbor’s “unsavory” friends.  Newsflash, the friends aren’t unsavory the old woman is just a racist asshole.  Listening to the grievances of the city had to contribute to at least half of Castle’s madness.  Bucky was only a few hours in and while yes he felt better about letting his family go out without him he was no less unlikely to shoot someone.  Maybe old lady McGinley.  The mean old bat has it coming.

                Clint setup a perimeter around the west side of the Brooklyn Bridge.  Nothing thus far was amiss.  Clint reports this to Bucky but his tone implies he believes the quiet to be bullshit.  The quiet is _always_ bullshit.

                “Run it.”  Bucky orders.  This part wasn’t unfamiliar, even if the circumstances are.  Running a job, analyzing the field of play, that was all normal.  Though to be fair to the three assassins usually they had more bagels on hand and shit was little less dire.  The few times Bucky was on this side of a job he at least got to go commando in his comfiest pair of sweatpants instead of the tac gear he’s been slowly putting on in case he’s gotta personally go fight a goddamned army.

                “Traffic’s moving along, a little too smoothly for the time of day.  Cops and emergency responders are absent.”  Bucky can hear Clint’s gear rustle around and the wind gusting in his ears, “No civilians walking around, not even a bicycle.  Feels like very subtle crowd control…We got a light up on the bridge walkway.”

                Bucky’s frown deepens, “Out of place?”

                “Well, its blue and blinking in a pattern—not Morse, so yeah bro.  Out of place.”

                “Don’t go in.”

                “I’m goin’ in.”

                “Hawkeye,”  Bucky scoffs more relaxed now than before despite Clint’s penchant for hurtling head-first into danger, “more like Mothman.”

                “Cold, bro.”

                “I’m not the one being drawn to shiny lights.”

                Clint shrugs though no one can see him, unnecessary risks was his middle name.  Actually it was Francis which he never mentions for the obvious reasons.  His father was an abusive piece of shit alcoholic but _Francis_?  Unforgivable.  Clint notches a grappling arrow with enough high-tension line to get him off his perch, breathes, and then aims with the wind.  The arrow catches on the highest pillar of the bridge right next to the blinking light.  Clint ties off his end of the line around the ledge of the building he’d been roosting on stomping in steel pins with his boots.  He uses his bow to zip-line the cable feet first unable to keep the manic grin off his face the whole ride.

                “Okay, that wasn’t so bad.”  Clint proclaims loudly to himself as he deftly lands against the stone of the pillar then propels himself up to the walkway.  He’s been up there before, the civilized way, aka the boring way.  The view was fucking A.  The river divided the city like jagged kingdoms and the bridge felt older than it really was.  Everything was a different world from on high.  Cities, people, problems. 

                Carefully, Clint treads toward the light at the center of the narrow walkway on the overlook.  Turns out the light is more of an orb the size of snow globe and a thousand times more entrancing.  He relays what he sees to Bucky in detail.

                “Do not touch it.”  Bucky says tiredly.

                At the same time Clint announces, “I’m gonna touch it.”

                Faintly, as if Bucky had taken his comms out, Clint can hear the most inventive string of Russian, Mandarin, and French swear words on the planet.  A beat after even fainter Steve says vaguely impressed, “Good God, Buck.”

                Yes, Clint was a reckless human, he had to be to keep up but not so much that he ignored an actually serious dangerous situation.  He did what Natasha would do; he poked the maybe death ball with a stick.  It was technically an arrow, he was a guy with arrows—stuff was going to get poked…wait.

                Other than rock a bit the orb does nothing.  Poking it harder a second time does the same amount of nothing only this time accompanied by a slight _tink_ sound.  Clint hunkers down to inspect the orb more closely.  Calling it a blue light in a ball did the orb little justice.  While cars roared beneath him and gasoline hovered in the air Clint saw galaxies swirl into each other.  No one alien or public employee, which hey they should have at least one of those up there, made themselves known to him.  The orb was the only sign of life.  If the orb was dangerous Clint wasn’t going to let it stay above all those people.  That’s what hanging around Steve Rogers did to you, mo’ morals mo’ problems.  A much easier thought to cope with than believing he was a better person than he really was.

                Sighing heavily Clint takes a cloth pouch from his utility belt and carefully places it around the orb before scooping it up without touching it.  The bright light suddenly being gone from his field of vision is a little disorienting but Clint’s more grateful that he wasn’t sucked into a time vortex or some shit than anything.  The cloth pouch gets tied to an arrow and shot to a buoy far up river, if it was destructive there it would less damage.  Unless it was, like, nuclear, which Clint didn’t really want to think about.  If it was a beacon Clint wasn’t about to carry it around on him either.

                The orb was not a beacon.

                Or a bomb.

                The second the orb is out of range Clint could taste the change in the air, more like he noticed something in the air he hadn’t noticed when he first got there.  Stronger than gasoline and river water was the stench of crude oil set aflame.  Clint had been in an oil field once while it was burning, the image was hard to forget much less the smell.  Whatever was floating in the air was the closest he’s experienced since.  Clint blinks hard against the sand and black smoke that isn’t there and shakes his head.  Thanks to Loki, he knows better now when his head is being messed with.  There’s no way for Clint to know how exactly but he does know the orb is effecting his perception far more subtly than Loki managed.

                Before Clint can spot anything else unusual Natasha’s voice calmly commands, “Hawkeye.  Get off the bridge.  Now.  They’re beneath it.”

                Clint doesn’t question her, never does, he wishes he could move as fast she could though.  A faint greenish-yellow smoke ripples through the air from below, too faint and too fast to be noticed unless you were looking for a disturbance.  The smell of burning oil grows dizzyingly stronger.  He’s distantly aware his movements have slowed.  Lethargic, Clint remembers the word from the word a day pocket calendar Kate bought him on his last birthday.

                Right before Clint loses consciousness his last thought is:  Damn it.  Bucky’s never going to let this go.  Not ever.

* * *

 

                Funny thing about teeth: they were always the last to grow back.  Wade didn’t know why.  He supposes it could be worse—they could not grow back at all which would be unfortunate for jalapeño eating related purposes.

                Wade spits out his last remaining incisor on the concrete floor and honestly he’s starting to take this going for the face thing personally.  The camouflaging mesh on his face moves organically under each strike without fail but did nothing to stop the sting.  Although compared to the pain he normally felt the hits were like butterfly kisses. The fights worked simply enough, go as long as you can until somebody gets dragged off.  Few made it past three rounds and those who did received such luxuries as chairs and a paper cup of water.  Those who were taken down round one disappeared.  Wade’s on guy number six, debating if he should take a fall to keep from being too suspicious…

                “But…” Wade mutters under his breath, “ _this bitch_.”

                Wade dodges a right hook thrown by his opponent.  The man looks like a strike team member and the kind of guy that gets real uncomfortable at the idea of wearing the color pink.  The slicked-back hair and Gaston jaw only made the guy more punchable.  This is the last one, Wade decides.  Then he’s gonna get his damn chair.  Their fight had devolved into a basic bare-knuckle brawl right from the start.  Wade changes that at the last second.

                “Sorry about this, I usually wait for the third date but you are just really fucking annoying.”  Wade leaps and catches discount Gaston’s head between his thighs then flips them over to ground ending in a resounding crack.  The fact that the Black Widow didn’t instantly kill the people she used that move on was a testament to her incredible skill because Wade totally did not mean to kill Gaston.

                “Well.  Fuck.”  He mumbles.

                One of the tablet-wielding watch dogs signals another fighter, a short stocky girl who wastes no time.  Gaston is barely dragged away when the girl kicks Wade right in the balls.  Now he probably would have dropped at that anyway even if he hadn’t decided it was time to take one for the mission.  If those around them weren’t brain-whammied Wade was sure they would’ve cheered for the girl, er, young lady.  As it was not a soul so much as coughed.  Rude, really.  Women should always be cheered when she kicks a dude in the nuts, that’s just manners.

                Wade waits for water that doesn’t come.  He doesn’t get the chair either.  Assholes.  Not reacting isn’t Wade’s strongest suit.  His face was usually behind a mask and getting that mask to move the way he wanted took quite a lot of practiced exaggerated effort.  Keeping a straight face was difficult.  When the dreaded keepers of the tablets proceed to herd him away a la the failures his jaw was actually starting to hurt from the way he’s keeping his mouth clamped shut.

                Wade allows them to lead him out.  His initial thought is wrong, he wasn’t being sent to where the shitty fighters were sent—they were apparently being shoved one by one into the back of Wal-Mart semi-truck.  No, Wade was being taken to the ship.  This was sort of what he wanted and if he was honest with himself, a very inconvenient thing to be, sort of what he wanted was much more than he normally got.

                Okay.  Wow.  Got a little too deep there for a second.

                Wade looks up at the sky, “This isn’t a story about my insecurities.  Let’s stick to the sexual tension and ass kicking, alright?”

                “What?”  One of his escorts demands dragging Wade up the walkway to the deck of the ship.

                “Oh, never mind me, talking to myself again.  Sorry, it’s a habit.”  Wade leans away and talks out the side of his mouth in a disturbingly accurate 1940’s radio announcer voice, “And now to the master of invention and resident alcoholic uncle: Tony Stark!”

* * *

 

 

                “Alright Captain we are tracking you on the monitors.  How’s the suit holding up?  Too sweaty?  Too drafty?  I’m always open to constructive criticism—that by the way is a lie do not do that.”  Tony speaks into his headset, he feels empowered surrounded by half the Avengers in the Tower’s high tech war room.  Steve was still M.I.A., Thor was in Asgard seeking help dealing with Loki and Tony hadn’t seen Sam all day.  Sam being missing was ten times more worrying than Steve being missing for some reason.  Both liked jumping from high places far too much for his liking.  He was doubly worried with the whole threat of hostile aliens thing.

                “I’ve seen better in Wakanda.”  A smooth woman’s voice responds in a way that it’s hard to tell if she’s kidding or not.  Carol Danvers’ sense of humor was a little bit odd ball.  At least she thought she was funny, and once you saw her send a doomsday asteroid back out into space with a well-aimed kick you would probably be inclined to agree with her.

                “That’s probably true.”  Tony admits as Pietro snickers behind his back, “But you still wound me.”

                On Tony’s right is Rhodey too professional to sit apparently, or too worried.  He’s got his own headset too, no one says anything about the custom silver and blue lettering running down the side spelling out “Warmachine is BAE.”  Mostly because Rhodey was beloved and would usually side with the twins against Tony when it came to the truly important things like take-out and movie night.  Rhodey casts Pietro a look and the boy settles down.  Tony figured he used some kind of magic, that speedy little smart-alecky bastard didn’t listen to anyone else.

                “Colonel Danvers, you’re ETA is approaching.  Prepare to eject the blasting cap .”  Rhodey informs Carol stiffly.

                Stark satellites relayed the sharp image of a small jet-propelled module hurtling through Earth’s atmosphere out into open space.  The small module makes it through just fine.  Of course it would.  That’s Stark technology.  Tony’s kind of peeved they were all so concerned actually.  The fact he was also worried meant nothing, ok, nothing.

                They can all hear Carol letting out a small breath of air and see her pod safely floating in the void.  The pod’s doors slide open revealing Captain Marvel battle ready and bathed in reflected sunlight.  Her trademark eight-pointed star on her chest glints gold and her red and blue color scheme contrast spectacularly against the black of space. Tony takes a screen shot because that was a poster opportunity if he ever saw one.

                “All good, Cap?”  Tony checks in after long seconds of Carol not saying anything.

                “All good.  Sorry, guys, I just really love space.”  Anybody could tell that just by listening to her.  Possibly having to go hand to hand with a spaceship didn’t dampen her spirits.  She’d almost sounded _excited_ when Tony explained their situation to her.  Carol Danvers was scary in the best way.  If the grossly fond expression on Rhodey’s face was any indication he thought so too.  Tony secretly has Jarvis take pictures—poster material.  So many posters.  Lunch boxes, travel mugs, somebody had to be thinking of these things.  Rhodey would appreciate it later as he gave Tony a best wingman ever award.  Really, he should have received one years ago.

                “If you were an Avenger we could get you up there more often, you know.”

                “I can’t be bought, Stark.”

                “How about a mint condition 1979 Millennium Falcon?”

                “…Damn…I’ll think about it.”

                “Never been out of the box.”  Tony sing-songs.

                Rhodey frowns, “Cut it out, man, this is serious.”

                “This is my serious face, babe, don’t worry.  Captain Marvel’s got this.”  He swats Rhodey on the ass.

                Carol doesn’t bother to follow Tony up with a comment of her own.  She’s a woman of action and one who appreciated living in the moment.  Things like flying needed to be appreciated in the moment particularly while in freaking space.  Flying without gravity was a singular experience.  Nothing like it.  She wondered briefly on her way up if she could fly right through the atmosphere.  Carol wasn’t sure it was possible in only her suit.  One day she was gonna try, because why the hell not?  Right then she has other more pressing priorities.

                “Let’s try for some diplomacy, Cap’n.”  Tony says.

                Carol grimaces, “Roger that.  I’m going to attempt to approach the vessel.”

                Wanda coughs politely, “They did not seem as if they were interested in peace, why would they speak with Colonel Danvers?”

                Always ready to explain military strategy Rhodey answers before Tony gets the chance to, “The Colonel’s power comes from a Kree source.”

                “And you are hoping common ground will lead to negotiations?”  Wanda speculates tilting her head.  On the screens around them Carol cuts through the void like a bird of prey.

                “Yes.  Exactly.”  Rhodey confirms making Wanda smile.

                The words are barely out of his mouth when the monitoring screens are lit up by explosions.  The Kree ship was firing before Carol was anywhere near it.  The miasma of laser particles and missile smoke dispersed, amongst the lingering cloudy smoke and stars Captain Marvel hovers unaffected with her arms crossed and a mean smirk on her face.

                Pietro scoffs, “So much for diplomacy.”

* * *

 

 

                “Hawkeye is down.”  Natasha reports, “All the cars have stopped.  The gas has dissipated but likely still potent.”

                Bucky appears calm. Steve saw a similar look on the man he loves during the war.  Ice cold calm behind a sniper’s scope picking off enemies before they even saw the Howlies coming.  Dugan had once made a comment about the squadron having their own personal guardian angel, he’d pointed to the wing on Bucky’s shoulder and laughed.  In retaliation Bucky slugged Dugan in the chest and said, “Where’s your angel now, you drunken oaf?”  Dugan had only laughed harder.  Steve wonders what Dugan would make of Bucky now, wonders if Bucky would ever see him again.  To Steve, Bucky was still an angel, impossible and full of quiet uncontainable fury.  He’s aware of his own rose-colored glasses.  Steve just doesn’t give a shit.  Did he ever?  Nah.

                “Hostiles?”  Bucky inquires staring out at nothing.  Castle had shut off all other sources of sound the moment Clint went down.  The room’s quiet only serves to feed the tension.

                “Negative…wait, there’s…they were hidden.  Hawkeye removed the source of their camouflage.  The gas was the real crowd control.  Soldat.  There’s more than I can handle.  Kree, like the other one.”  She sounds bitter that she’s unable to handle the situation alone.  As if that’s a personal failure.

                “Skol’ko?”  Bucky asks, his voice is rougher in Russian and sends chills across Steve’s skin.

                “Dvenadtsat’.”

                “Fuck.”

                “Yeah.”  Natasha breathes.

                “Bucky,” Steve stands, “I’m going with you.”  He felt naked without his shield.  Yet now that he had time to think before charging into battle he realizes he hadn’t been missing it.  He wasn’t sure what that meant.

                Bucky doesn’t lose his frost.  He considers Steve briefly before nodding in agreement.  A surge of crackling energy washes over Steve.  He’s ready for a fight, always, and worried for Clint.  Worried how Bucky will react if anything happens to the mouthy archer.  There was still so much Steve didn’t know about this version of his best friend in front of him but there’s an unmistakable sense of foreboding around him.  Steve knows if Clint’s not okay Natasha and Bucky would turn the world to ash.  There was no way to know anything for certain until they got on the scene themselves.

                “Hang back, Widow.”  Bucky says in a quiet thick accent, “We’re on our way.”

 

 

Tbc

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian Translations:  
> Skol’ko—how many  
> Dvenadtsat’—twelve 
> 
> I’m thinking with the average word count of my chapters and the way the story is progressing this fic has got about five more chapters left to go and an epilogue. A very Stucky heavy epilogue. But don’t quote me because this thing has been a hot mess since it started so who knows what could happen (per the usual not me). And because I’ve made specific references to backstories here and there I’ll probably be doing some one-shots for this universe. The murder kids doing shady stuff in Reno, the one with the expensive vodka bottle, that time they met Remy: that sorta thing.   
> I don't know why my chapter numbers are wierd...i should fix that someday...  
>  As always thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ronin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619676) by [SilverWing15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15)




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